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Digitized by the Internet Archive
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Donated to the Internet Archive by
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https://archive.Org/details/@markjgraham/
mark@archive.org
Universal Access to All Knowledge
HE ACCIDENTALLY RAN INTO THE MAN WITH THE BIG
SPECTACLES.
Jerry Todd and the Rose- Colored Cat . Frontispiece— (Page 4)
JERRY TODD
AND THE
ROSE-COLORED CAT
BY
LEO EDWARDS
Author of
THE JERRY TODD BOOKS, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1921, by
The Sprague Publishing Go.
Detroit, Mich.
Copyright, 1924, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
JERRY TODD SAYS:
The mystery part of this adventure really
started the day we got Mrs. Kepple’s letter saying
she was shipping us her famous rose-colored cat,
Lady Victoria. Professor Stoner declared on the
spot there was no such thing as a rose-colored cat
— only he called it a feline. But right there in
front of our eyes was the letter. And just as
plain as day it read: “rose-colored cat.”
So we were all excited and went to the depot in
a body the morning the cat arrived. When we
squinted into the box we got the surprise of our
lives. And I imagine you’ll get something of a
surprise when you read about it.
For the most part the people in Tutter re¬
garded our cat troubles as a joke. We didn’t
mind that. And you can snicker all you want to
as you read down through these pages. If you
like the story well enough to wish another like it,
suppose you try my first book, JERRY TODD
AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY. In
case you already have enjoyed the “mummy”
story, there is still my third book, JERRY TODD
yi JERRY TODD
AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE, and
also JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING
HEN, book number four. These are all stories
about Scoop and me and Red and Peg. Full of
mystery and packed with clean fun.
My fifth book, JERRY TODD AND THE
PUZZLE ROOM MYSTERY, is about a
haunted house. I guess this old house is the only
one in the world having a puzzle room. Therein
lay the mystery. There is a ghost, and heaps of
fun. I imagine you’ll enjoy this book more than
some of the others if you particularly like
spooky stories.
Your friend,
Jerry Todd.
OUR CHATTER-BOX
HERE again I am provid¬
ing a “ Chatter-Box’ ’ for
a book (this is Leo Edwards
speaking) that was published
several years ago without a
“Chatter-Box.” As I ex¬
plained in the new “Chatter-
Box” in Jerry Todd and the
Whispering Mummy, “Our
Chatter-Box,” a department
open to all readers of my
books, both girls and boys,
began with my sixteenth book.
Made up mainly of youthful
contributions (letters, poems
and so on) this department
soon gained great popularity.
More and still more young
readers wrote to me, hoping to
see their letters in print; and
now my publisher has given
to me the very pleasing job of
incorporating many of these
letters in brief “Chatter-
Boxes” for all of my early
volumes.
Writers of accepted poems
will receive, as a reward, a free
autographed copy of the book
in which their poem appears.
Many fine poems, featuring
the characters in my books,
are contained in the “Chatter-
• •
YU
Boxes” in the new Trigger
Berg books and also in Andy
Blake and the Pot of Gold and
Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief.
It will pay you to read these
poems. Then, if you wish,
send me one of your own orig¬
inal poems.
The many thousands of let¬
ters that I receive yearly from
my loyal young readers are a
source of great inspiration to
me. Boy, some of these letters
are hot! And how I enjoy
them. I’m glad, too, that
readers of my books like long
“Chatter-Boxes.” For that
will give me a chance to use a
lot of letters in the big “Chat¬
ter-Boxes” in my new books.
If you haven’t written to me,
please do so right away. We’re
good buddies, you know. I
want to hear from you. And
I sure will try and find a place
for your letter if it is interest¬
ing.
LETTERS
FIRST on the list is a letter
signed by two . boy pals-
(now Freckled Goldfish),
OUR CHATTER-BOX
• • •
Till
Frank Johnson and Robert
Dansby of Dallas, Texas.
“You sure must be a regular
guy to write such swell boys’
books. We’d like them better,
though, if Jerry had a dog.
Is there such a town as Tutter?
Are Jerry, Poppy, Scoop, Peg
and Red real boys? In your
book, Jerry Todd , Pirate , who
opened and closed the door
and started and stopped the
clock in Al’s grandmother’s
room? We certainly hope
you’ll keep on writing books
of this kind.”
As I’ve said before, I try to
be a regular guy. I sure love
boys and am with them a great
deal, which, I suppose, ex¬
plains why my stories seem so
real to young readers. Boys
liking dogs will particularly
enjoy Jerry Todd, Caveman ,
in which Jerry’s new dog
makes its first appearance.
The majority of the characters
that I write about are real,
including Poppy, Red, Scoop,
Peg, Al, Slats and Tail Light.
Tutter is the town (it has an¬
other name) in which I was
raised. The full explanation
of who performed the
“ghostly” movements in Jerry
Todd, Pirate, is given on page
246.
“I would like to have Jerry
and his gang play baseball
against the Strieker gang,”
writes Freckled Goldfish (No.
5069) George Ott (no relation
to Poppy!) of Brooklyn, N. Y.
“Also I’d like to have Trigger
Berg and his gang play base¬
ball against Tony Crooker’s
mob for the town champion¬
ship. I think Trigger is the
cat’s whiskers, and almost as
good as Jerry Todd. I notice
in the Elephant book that you
said Jerry collected stamps.
I’m glad to see that, for stamp
collecting is one of my hob¬
bies.”
“I’m a great reader,” writes
Bud Lovett of Cleveland,
Ohio, “and in sleuthing May
Company’s department store
the clerk in the book section
suggested that I read one of
your books. I did. Since
then I’ve invested almost ten
bucks in your books. And do
I ever love you for writing such
peachy books! I think you
have made some mistakes in
your books. For instance, in
the Whispering Cave Jerry
dreamt about a cork tree. In
the Bob-Tailed Elephant Uncle
Jonah tells Jerry and Henny
the same story, almost word
for word. Some of your books
are masterpieces and some
seem not so good — more of an
effort. That part is funny in
the Talking Frog where the
frog and the talking machine
had a fight. It was funny, too,
in another book (I think it was
the Stuttering Parrot) where
Jerry, with the arm of the law
watching him, ate everything
in sight, only to suffer later on
when the stuff started playing
leapfrog inside of him. Though
your Trigger Berg books
haven’t as much plot and mys¬
tery as your other books, I like
OUR CHATTER-BOX
IX
the Bergs even better. Gee,
Leo, I’ve always lived in the
city and never was in a gang or
owned a boat or had pals or
adventures, so you are my
only hope. Please don’t stop
writing! I wish that Jerry,
Poppy, Andy, Trigger, Peg,
Red, Scoop, Al, Henny, Bud,
Chuck, Friday, Slats, Tail
Light, Dynamite and all the
rest were my honest-to-gosh
pals.”
One time I wrote a short
story called “Uncle Jonah’s
Cork Tree.” Later I used a
small part of this story in the
Whispering Cave. But when I
came to the Bob-Tailed Ele¬
phant I had a much better
chance to use the story, so re¬
peated it, giving all the in¬
teresting little details, figuring
that the boys who missed the
Cave book would enjoy the
story in the Elephant book.
Bud isn’t the first reader who
has called my attention to
this “mistake.”
I wish I had space for more
general letters. But I have
been told to confine these
added “Chatter-Boxes” to
about eighteen hundred words.
But, as I say, we’re going to
have some dandy big “Chat¬
ter-Boxes” in all of my new
books. So get your letter in
as soon as possible, and make
it interesting.
FRECKLED GOLDFISH
UT of my book, Poppy
Ott and the Freckled Gold-
fishy has grown our great
Freckled Goldfish lodge, mem¬
bership in which is open to aH
boys and girls who are in¬
terested in my books. Thou¬
sands of readers have joined
the club. We have peachy
membership cards (designed
by Bert Salg, the popular il¬
lustrator of my books) and
fancy buttons. Also for mem¬
bers who want to organize
branch clubs (hundreds are in
successful operation, providing
boys and girls with added fun)
we have rituals.
To join (and to be a loyal
Jerry Todd fan I think you
ought to join), please observe
these simple rules:
(1) Write (or print) your
name plainly.
(2) Supply your complete
printed address.
(3) Give your age.
(4) Enclose two two-cent
postage stamps (for card and
button).
(5) Address your letter to
Leo Edwards,
Cambridge,
Wisconsin.
LOCAL CHAPTERS
TO HELP young organizers
we have produced a printed
ritual, which any member who
wants to start a Freckled
Goldfish club in his own neigh¬
borhood can’t afford to be
without. This booklet tells
how to organize the club, how
to conduct meetings, how to
transact all club business, and,
probably most important of
all, how to initiate candidates.
X
OUR CHATTER-BOX
The complete initiation is
given word for word. Natu¬
rally, these booklets are more
or less secret. So, if you send
for one, please do not show it
to anyone who isn’t a Freckled
Goldfish. Three chief officers
will be required to put on the
initiation, which can be given
in any member’s home, so,
unless each officer is provided
wfith a booklet, much memoriz¬
ing will have to be done. The
best plan is to have three book¬
lets to a chapter. These may
be secured (at cost) at six
cents each (three two-cent
stamps) or three for sixteen
cents (eight two-cent stamps).
Address all orders to Leo Ed¬
wards, Cambridge, Wisconsin.
CLUB NEWS
IN SENDING for a ritual,
1 for organization purposes,
Freckled Goldfish (No. 2098)
Franklin C. Massey of Phila¬
delphia, Pa., writes: “I en¬
joyed Trigger Berg and His 700
Mouse Traps very much. I
liked the part where Trigger
got the dog better than any
other part because I have a
dog and know what they do.’*
“Please enroll me as a mem¬
ber of the Freckled Goldfish
lodge,” writes Russell A. Smith
of Port Richmond, Staten
Island, N. Y. “I am thirteen
years old and have read all of
your books, of which I like the
Trigger Bergs the best. I’ve
often wondered what Scoop’s
real name was.”
Scoop’s name is Howard.
“Your Jerry Todd and Pop-
y Ott books are the best
ooks I have ever read,”
writes George B. Koelle of
Philadelphia, Pa. “I wish,
though, you would give them
names that better fit the book.
For instance, I think Jerry
Todd, Pirate, should have been
named Jerry Todd and the Oak
Island Treasure. I particu¬
larly like the way in which
Jerry tells the story himself.
When I heard about your
Freckled Goldfish lodge I im¬
mediately wanted to join,
hence this letter.”
“Our club,” writes Wfilliam
Hadley of Uxbridge, Mass.,
“would like to buy a big
framed picture of Poppy’s
goldfish to put in our club-
room. Also we’d like to buy
a big picture of you, our
favorite author. Everything
is fine so far as the club is con¬
cerned, but I’m out of luck
myself — I’ve got the chicken
pox. Let me know if you can
furnish the pictures and how
much they will cost.”
Sorry, Bill, but I can’t
supply you with an enlarged
picture of Poppy’s goldfish.
Why don’t you make a cutout
of a goldfish, or draw a picture
of one? You can do that.
My publisher will send you
one of my pictures if you send
ten cents in stamps to Grosset
& Dunlap, 1140 Broadway,
New York, N. Y.
“I am sending you the min¬
utes of the tenth meeting of
OUR CHATTER-BOX
xi
our Goldfish club,” reports
Norman Wengert of Mil¬
waukee, Wis. “Meeting
started at 7 :30 p.m. Dues
were collected, giving us a
total in the treasury of more
than four dollars. Members
voted to attend the ‘Sky
Hawk’ at a local theater.”
There is a great deal more
to Norman’s report. This
certainly is an active club.
It holds checker and horseshoe
tournaments and has its own
baseball nine. Recently the
club raffled off a book, selling
tickets only to club members.
Club leaders who sometimes
wTonder “what to do” will do
well to write for suggestions
to Norman Wengert, 1019
Grant Blvd., Milwaukee, Wis.
OUR SCHOOL CLUB
HAVE you heard about
our School Club? Here’s
the idea: Just as my Jerry
Todd, Poppy Ott and Trigger
Berg books are written pri¬
marily to fill the fives of boys
with clean, natural fun, so
also would I like to have my
young readers share this book
fun of theirs with others.
Which can be done individu¬
ally if you will prevail upon
your teacher to read one of
my Todd, Ott or Berg books
aloud. That will be fun for
the whole room. I might
mention, too, that these books
are written to read aloud.
If your teacher, through
your personal efforts, reads
one of my books to the school,
you automatically become a
member of our “School Club,”
and should so notify me.
Your name will be published
in a later “Chatter-Box.” At
the end of each year names of
all members (who haven’t al¬
ready drawn prizes) are put
“into the hat.” Not less than
ten names (sometimes twenty
or thirty) are drawn at ran¬
dom. And each of these ten
(or more) boys or girls will
receive an autographed copy
of my latest book.
A more complete announce¬
ment of the club was given in
the “Chatter-Box” in Jerry
Todd , Editor-in-Grief.
CONTENTS
chapter
PAGE
I
The Feline Rest Farm -
«
I
II
Cats, and More Cats* .
•
21
III
The Rose-Colored Cat .
•
44
IV
Lady Victoria Disappears
•
55
V
An Unsuccessful Operation
63
VI
A Mysterious Visitor
«
76
VII
Wanted: One Hundred Cats
97
VIII
Our Barrel Trap .
•
109
IX
The Fire in the Brickyard
•
133
X
Six Pink Pearls
•
150
XI
Two Mrs. Kepples .
•
160
XII
The Copper Collar .
•
172
XIII
At the Infirmary .
o
191
XIV
Indians! ....
•
215
XV
We Solve the Mystery .
• l
e.
234
LEO EDWARDS’ BOOKS
Here is a list of Leo Edwards*
published books:
THE JERRY TODD SERIES
Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy
Jerry Todd and the Rose-Colored Cat
Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure
Jerry Todd and the Waltzing Hen
Jerry Todd and the Talking Frog
Jerry Todd and the Purring Egg
Jerry Todd in the Whispering Cave
Jerry Todd, Pirate
Jerry Todd and the Bob-Tailed Elephant
Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief
Jerry Todd, Caveman
Jerry Todd and the Flying Flapdoodle
Jerry Todd and the Buffalo Bill Bathtub
Jerry Todd’s Up-the-Ladder Club
THE POPPY OTT SEEIES
Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot
Poppy Ott’s Seven-League Stilts
Poppy Ott and the Galloping Snail
Poppy Ott’s Pedigreed Pickles
Poppy Ott and the Freckled Goldfish
Poppy Ott and the Tittering Totem
Poppy Ott and the Prancing Pancake
Poppy Ott Hits the Trail
Poppy Ott & Co., Inferior Decorators
JERRY TODD AND THE
ROSE-COLORED CAT
CHAPTER I
THE FELINE REST FARM
Did you ever hear of a feline rest farm? We
never did till the day we came across Professor
Ellsworth Stoner at the Rock Island depot. Till
that time we had always thought a cat was a cat,
but the professor, after telling us that he was an
authority on cats, having studied them all his life
along what he termed scientific lines, told us that
a cat was a “feline.”
I guess Peg Shaw and I would have particu¬
larly noticed the professor even if Scoop Ellery
hadn’t pointed him out to us. He was a notice¬
able man. I don’t mean he was distinguished-
looking, like some of the professors and doctors
in our college on the hill. What made him no-
i
2 JERRY TODD AND
ticeable was his odd appearance and queer ac¬
tions.
I am a great hand to study people’s faces.
When I see a man with a kindly face I am nat¬
urally attracted to him. Where a man has a mean
face I make it a point to keep out of his way.
The tall, thin stranger, I noticed, had an unusually
kindly face. I knew right off that here was a
man who wouldn’t harm a flea. But even in my
respect for him I had to smile as I regarded him
closely, taking in the big-rimmed spectacles that
rested loosely on his big nose, and the old-fash¬
ioned collar and necktie. He had on a black suit
and a black soft hat. From his general appear¬
ance I took him to be a minister. He was mixed
up in the crowd of Chicago people who were leav¬
ing the train, headed for the Walkers Lake Sani¬
tarium.
Spider Phelps, who drives a summer bus be¬
tween Tutter and the sanitarium, had his outfit
backed up against the depot platform. His
homely face screwed all out of shape, he was yell¬
ing into the crowd:
“Right over here, ladies and gents. Here’s the I
bus for the sanitarium. Goin’ right out.”
Walkers Lake is about three miles south of
Tutter and the sanitarium built on its shore is a
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
3
pretty swell joint. It is a cluster of buildings,
the largest of which contains fully two hundred
rooms. I guess it costs a lot of money to stay
there and that is why the guests are mostly rich
people from Chicago and Peoria — Tutter being
situated about half way between these two cities.
The visitors come and stay for two or three weeks
at a time, not so much because they are sick but
because they are tired and want to rest up in a
fashionable way. It’s something of a fad, I guess,
for rich people to patronize places like the Walk¬
ers Lake Sanitarium.
“Gee, fellows, lamp the deacon,” Scoop cried,
pointing to where the man with the funny spec¬
tacles had paused on the platform, glancing about
him uncertainly. He had no suit-case or travel¬
ing bag like the other passengers — just a covered
basket, which he carried on his right arm.
Scoop laughed and jabbed Peg in the ribs with his
elbow. “Why don’t you go over,” he suggested,
“and carry the basket? You’ll get a tip — may¬
be.”
Peg had a reflective lcok on his face.
“Queer,” said he out of his thoughts.
“What’s queer?” Scoop wanted to know.
“That he should be going to the sanitarium,,
It’s a pretty lively place for a minister.”
4 JERRY TODD AND
^r> \ . - »»
v "V A-', ,, p * . 1
sk*> » ^
Scoop laughed.
“Maybe he’ll get the shock of his life when he
sees the way they dance and carry on. I guess
they play cards, too.”
I didn’t say anything. But X had the feeling
that the stranger wasn’t heading for the sani¬
tarium as Peg and Scoop imagined. I don’t know
what gave me that thought unless it was the un¬
certainty and bewilderment pictured in the man’s
thin face.
Red Meyers, who is the fourth member of our
gang, was helping a big fat lady with black ear¬
rings carry a couple of fuzzy-haired dogs and a
big traveling bag from the train to the bus. She
looked as though she might be worth a lot of
money. Anyway Red had picked her out as likely
to give him a good tip.
While we were watching, the baggage man
came down the platform with a truck piled high
with trunks and boxes. He accidentally ran into
the man with the big spectacles, causing the latter
to drop his basket. The basket roiled along the
platform and bumped against Red, who was hav¬
ing an awful time trying to carry the two dogs and
the big traveling bag at the same time. When
the basket struck his legs the cover flopped back
and out popped a frightened coal-black cat.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
5
Gee-miny crickets ! It was as good as a circus
to see the way those two dogs got into action
when they spied the cat. Red tried to hang onto
them but they clawed and scratched till he had to
drop them. When they landed on the platform
they gave a wild yelp and started pell-mell for the
cat. Around and around the platform they went,
making a fearful racket and commotion. Women
screamed and ran for the bus. Peg and I and
Scoop pretty nearly yipped our heads off we were
so tickled.
The fat lady with the black earrings got ex¬
cited when she saw her dogs hotfooting it after
the black cat. She danced around and scolded
Red who dropped the traveling bag and tried to
grab the dogs. He yelled for us to help him. By
this time everybody on the platform was yelling
except the stranger with the big spectacles.
“Dear me ! Dear me !” the tall man said slowly,
looking on in a bewildered way. Picking up his
hat, which had been jostled from his head, he
dusted it carefully with his handkerchief and then
reached for the basket. When he noticed that
the basket was empty he gave a startled cry and
stared helplessly into the faces about him.
Red was skidding around the platform grab¬
bing at the dogs. They were small dogs, but for
6 JERRY TODD AND
their size they made a lot of noise. He managed
to get hold of one by the tail. It turned and
snapped at his fingers, which made him mad. It
doesn’t take much to make Red mad. His temper
is as fiery as his hair. When the fat lady began
scolding him for pulling her dog’s tail he told her
she could catch her own dogs for all he cared.
Then some one yelled to forget about the dogs
and rescue the cat. Scoop saw it heading his way
and grabbed it just in time to save its tail from
being snapped off by one of the dogs. After that
the fat lady had no difficulty rounding up her pets.
She cuddled them in her arms and I thought for
a moment she was going to kiss them. The last
we saw of her she was indignantly climbing into
the bus, a dog under each fat arm, Spider Phelps
following with the traveling bag.
Scoop ran up to the man with the big spec¬
tacles.
“Here’s your cat, mister/’ he said, offering the
pet to its owner. The stranger looked the cat
over with a great deal of concern. A sigh of re¬
lief escaped from his lips when he found the cat’s
tail and everything else in proper shape.
“Dear me!” he murmured, stroking the cat
with the tips of his long thin fingers. “How un¬
fortunate that my little companion should be sub-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
7
jected to such rude and savage treatment.” He
beamed at Scoop over the top of his spectacles.
“I am deeply grateful to you, my boy, for inter¬
posing and saving my little pet from those ver*
vicious and ill-bred canines.”
Scoop turned to me and grinned. Calling dogs
canines was something new to us. No one in
Tutter had ever called dogs by such a fancy name*
I figured that the man must be a college profes¬
sor instead of a minister.
Then, when the crowd had melted away and
we were seated on the platform, the stranger told
us that he was a professor — though he had no
connection with the Tutter College. His name
was Professor Ellsworth Stoner and he told us in
a modest way that he knew more about cats than
any other man in the whole world. He further
explained that he had come to Tutter to start a
feline rest farm.
Well, I wanted to laugh. A feline rest farm!
It struck me as being a crazy idea. I thought at
first he was joking. The others thought so, too.
I could tell from their actions. But he wasn’t
i.
joking. No, sir-e ! It was his idea to fix up a
place where the cats could be taken care of, then
advertise it as an exclusive feline rest farm. He
told us he would soon be swamped with business.
8 JERRY TODD AND
In telling us about his scheme he used a lot of
big words. He said among other things that the
cat was one of the most glorious creatures in the
world — that years and years and years ago the
Egyptians used to embalm their cats just like hu¬
man beings. That was the “golden age of her
Feline Majesty,” is the way he put it. He told
us about the big cat cemeteries along the River
Nile. It was interesting. I could see he knew a
great deal about cats.
“The many years of exhaustive study that I
have given to the subject will excellently fit me
for the work that I am about to take up,” he went
on. “My first step will be to establish a suitable
feline domicile and then - ”
“Establish a which?” Scoop interrupted, letting
his forehead go puckered.
“A feline domicile.”
“What’s a feline domicile?” inquired Scoop.
“I am referring, of course, to the home I shall
establish for my feline guests,” explained the pro¬
fessor.
Scoop grunted.
“If you go talking that dictionary stuff around
town you’ll establish something, all right, but it
won’t be a home for sick cats.”
The professor looked bewildered.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
9
“I — er — fail to comprehend,” he murmured.
“You’ll establish a reputation for being a nut,”
Scoop said bluntly.
“A nut?”
“Yes, a nut.”
“How extraordinary!”
Scoop saw that it was no use talking slang to
the professor.
“Never mind,” he grinned. “Go ahead with
your yarn. You left off where you were establish¬
ing a dormitory, or something.”
“A feline domicile,” the professor corrected.
“When this has been provided I shall advertise in
the Chicago newspapers. I am sure the wealthy
people who have occasion to depart from their
homes during the sultry summer months will be
extremely glad to learn that their pet felines can
be accommodated at my rest farm and cared for
along strictly scientific lines.”
I could see doubt in Scoop’s face.
“You say the rich people will pay you real
money for taking care of their cats?” he ques¬
tioned, regarding the other with narrowed eyes.
The professor frowned in mild disapproval.
“I much prefer the term ‘feline’ to ‘cat,’ ” he
said. “To my cultured ear the term ‘cat’ sounds
very vulgar. Yes,” he went on, “I shall make a
IO JERRY TODD AND
charge of one dollar per feline per week. At
first I shall arrange to accommodate one hundred
felines — a matter of one hundred dollars per
week.” He paused and cleaned his spectacles with
a handkerchief. When they were polished to his
satisfaction he returned them to his nose and
added: “You seem to be nice, bright boys. I am
wondering if I can engage you to assist me in
the undertaking.”
Scoop backed off. I knew why. Right away
I got suspicious, too. One time a shyster came
to town and told us what smart boys we were and
skinned us out of five dollars for memberships in
his fake detective agency. I told about that in
my book about the whispering mummy. Now
another stranger was giving us the same line of
soft-soap. It wouldn’t do him any good. We
were wise. What little money we had would stay
right in our pockets.
“There will be a suitable remuneration,” the
man continued. “Suppose we say five dollars each
per week.”
I saw now that we had been overly suspicious.
“You mean you want us to work for you; and
that you will pay each of us five dollars a week?”
Scoop questioned shortly.
The professor nodded.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT it
“I rather feel that five dollars a week will be'
a just stipend,” he said gravely.
Peg threw up his arms and pretended he was
going to faint.
“Help!” he cried. “Some one fan me with a
dictionary.”
Scoop turned and scowled.
“Cut it out,” he ordered. Then he said to the
professor: “What do we do to earn the five dol¬
lars?”
“I shall train you in the scientific care of my
feline guests. There will be regular feeding
hours; and, of course, systematic recreation, I
cannot possibly manage the business and attend to
all the details of operation. If you feel you would
like to assist me in the work - ”
“You can consider us hired,” Scoop cut in.
“This is vacation time and we’ll work for you as
long as there’s a regular pay-day. What do we
do first?”
The professor seemed pleased at Scoop’s de¬
cision. But he wasn’t half as tickled as I was.
Here was an easy way to earn five dollars a week
was my contented thought. Lots easier than hoe¬
ing corn in the river bottoms, which I did one
summer for fifty cents a day and almost chopped
my big toe off. I knew Dad and Mother would
12 JERRY TODD AND
be pleased when they heard about my swell new
job. Dad says a boy should always keep his eyes
and ears open and learn useful things. I figured
that in associating with the professor I would
learn a lot of useful things about cats. When you
come to think about it there aren’t very many
people who know very much about cats. A cat is
born and lives and dies and that is the end of it.
We know a lot about horses and cows. Maga¬
zines print stories about dogs, showing that dogs
are well understood. But I never saw a story
about a cat. I like cats, too. It would be nice
to learn all about them. Every day I would learn
something new. I was anxious to get started on
my new job.
In answer to Scoop’s question the professor ex¬
plained that the first thing to do was to find a
suitable location for establishing the rest farm.
“We shall require a somewhat sizable build¬
ing,” he outlined. “It should be rather apart
from the community so that we shall not be dis¬
turbed.”
Scoop’s thoughts carried him away. Then he
came back to earth and gripped my arm.
“Say, Jerry, how about the old cement mill back
of your pa’s brickyard?”
“Just the place,” I said, sharing his excitement.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 13
The old mill wasn’t good for anything. Years
ago the machinery was junked for old iron.
There are holes in the wooden walls and roof, but
I figured this wouldn’t interfere very much. In
talking it over Peg suggested that we see Dad
before going any further with our plans, so we
took the professor along with us to find out would
it be all right to turn the old mill into a cat farm.
It took us ten minutes to reach the brickyard,
which is near the canal on the west side of town.
Dad was in his office. He looked kind of sur¬
prised when we entered with the professor. I
guess he thought, like we did at first, that our
new friend was a minister.
“Howdy, gang,” he greeted, grinning down at
us as he shook hands. Dad’s always friendly and
full of fun. “Some one getting married to-day?
— or are we taking up a missionary collection for
the Hottentots?” he added.
“This is Professor Ellsworth Stoner,” I intro¬
duced. “He knows all about cats and - ”
“You mean catalogs?” interrupted Dad, look¬
ing from me to the professor.
“No; just plain cats,” I said.
The professor came forward. He looked comi¬
cal with the big-rimmed spectacles jiggling on the
end of his big nose and the basket on his arm.
i4 JERRY TODD AND
He had a funny way, too, of peering solemnly
over the top of his spectacles.
A grin crept into Dad’s face.
‘‘Might I — er — suggest,” the professor inter¬
rupted in a mild voice, “that hereafter in our ref¬
erence to the felts domestica we use the term
‘feline’ instead of ‘cat.’ To me the term ‘cat’
seems common and does not do justice to the
gorgeous creature that in the days of Egypt’s
splendor held the awe and admiration of even the
mighty Pharaohs.”
Dad’s stenographer went, “Tee, hee, hee!” and
stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. But
Dad didn’t giggle. He has better manners than
Miss Tubbs. Maybe he wanted to laugh, but if
he did he choked it down, like I do in church
when something funny happens. Dad has a lot
of consideration for other people’s feelings.
“I’m mighty glad to meet you, professor,” he
said, again pumping the thin arm up and down.
This jiggled the basket and started the black cat
to yowling. “All my life,” added Dad, running
off into his nonsense, “I’ve been wanting to meet
some one who was an authority on cats. Yes, sir,
I’m tickled pink to make your acquaintance.”
The professor beamed.
“And I, sir, am ^-lighted to meet you. This
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
15
is an htmor I long shall remember! If, as you
say, you are scientifically interested in felines, we
shall, in the days to come, enjoy many happy mo¬
ments drscussing their anatomy, their physiology
and magnificent personality.”
“Absolutely,” said Dad. “You took the words
right out of my mouth. Anatomy is what I’m
most interested in. We’ll discuss that first if you
have no objection. Now I wonder - ” and he
ran his fingers through his hair, letting his fore¬
head go puckered.
There was a brief reflective silence.
“I am wondering,” continued Dad, “if it will
be best for us to start in on the anatomy at the
ears and work down, or start in at the tail and
work up.”
I didn’t know how far he would carry his joke,
so I decided to butt in. Very quickly I told about
the professor’s cat farm scheme and asked would
it be all right for us to use the old mill. I ex¬
plained that I was to work for the professor and
earn five dollars a week.
Dad had a puzzled look when I finished.
“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “As
I understand it you are going to start a — er —
feline rest farm in the old mill, advertise in the
Chicago newspapers for ca — I mean felines, and
1 6 JERRY TODD AND
have a bunch shipped in here with the idea of col¬
lecting a dollar a week per feline from the own¬
ers. Am I right?”
The professor beamed at Dad and nodded.
“Sir,” he said, “you have given in brief a very
comprehensive outline of my contemplated proj¬
ect.”
“And you are going to start with one hundred
ca — I mean felines?”
“Exactly, sir; exactly.”
Dad’s eyes twinkled like he was all bubbly in¬
side.
“What’s the use of being pikers?” said he.
“Let’s make it two hundred cats. Shucks ! Let’s
make it a thousand. That will be a thousand
dollars every week. This is a wonderful scheme,”
he added, letting on like he was terribly excited
over the proposition. “You’re to be congratu¬
lated, professor. Any common dub can see money
in bricks but it takes a genius to see money in
cats. Yes, sir, I’m with you till Niagara falls.
Absolutely. Use the old mill by all means. Do
anything with it that you want to.”
i We thanked Dad and passed on through the
brickyard. The old mill is located on the side of
a hill. There is a door in front that opens into
the lower floor, but we decided to use the second
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 17
floor, which was reached by climbing the hill and
entering a wide door at the back. The second
floor was in every way the cleanest and there was
1 better light here.
The professor teetered about the room on his
long, willowy legs, as tickled as a small kid with
an all-day sucker.
“How does it strike you?” said Scoop, acting
like he wanted to be handed a little praise for
being smart and suggesting the old mill as a good
place to establish the cat farm.
“Excellent,” murmured the professor. “I can,
in fact, imagine no place better adapted to our
immediate needs. Roomy, airy, dry. Um -
We shall require a goodly supply of boxes of
suitable proportions in which to house our feline
guests. Doubtless we can acquire them at the
mercantile shops in the village.”
“You won’t get ’em for nothing,” Scoop said
quickly. “1 know, because my father runs a gro¬
cery store.”
“I venture to say the charge will not be exor¬
bitant,” returned the professor. “I have some
money with me. Suppose we see how many suit¬
able boxes we can purchase for five dollars,” and
producing a pocketbook he handed Scoop a crisp
greenback.
1 8 JERRY TODD AND
We had a lot of fun that day helping the pro¬
fessor arrange things in the old mill. And as we
worked with him we absorbed much of his confi¬
dence in the scheme. Like Peg said, in the big
cities they have hospitals for dogs and other pets.
He read about it in a magazine. And he told us
about a doll hospital in New York City. All they
do in this hospital is put new arms and legs on
old dolls. If people could make a success of a
doll hospital I saw no reason why we couldn’t
make a success of the feline rest farm. Take the
rich people who patronize the Walkers Lake
Sanitarium. They cheerfully pay two prices for
everything. What would a dollar a week mean
to them in considering the welfare of their pet
cats? Not a drop in the bucket, hardly. Yes,
sir, we were every bit as excited over the proposi¬
tion as the professor and fully as confident that
it was going to be a money-making scheme.
There is a little room to one side on the second
floor of the old mill and here we brought in a cot
that Red found in his pa’s barn. The professor
seemed to have plenty of money. He bought a
small gasoline stove for cooking purposes and a
lot of truck to eat. Mostly canned things like
beans and cooked meat. When we were ready
to go home to supper Scoop said it didn’t seem
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
19
right to leave the old gentleman all alone in the
mill, so we got two more cots and prepared to
stay with him nights, two of us at a time.
At the supper table that evening Dad was full
of nonsense. He talked persistently of “felines,”
reminding us of the swell time he was going to
have visiting with the professor. After a bit
Mother told him to quit acting the dunce. She
pinched my knee under the table and said the
feline rest farm was a dandy scheme and she
hoped everything would turn out all right. That’s
Mother for you ! She knows how to stand by a
fellow and believe in him.
“Of course,” she added, looking into my face,
“you will want to be careful and not let the
cats - ”
“Felines,” Dad corrected with a grin. “My
dear lady, must I again remind you that the term
‘cat’ sounds very common and fails to do justice
to the gorgeous creature that put Egypt on the
map?”
Mother reached for the salt.
“I said cats and I mean cats,” she sputtered,
jiggling the salt shaker.
Dad sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
“All right,” he said, “have it your own way.”
“As I was going to say, Jerry,” she went on,
20
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
“I hope you will be careful and not let the cats
bite you and give you hydrophobia.”
I slowed up on my potatoes and looked into her
face.
“You are thinking of dogs,” I said. “Cats
don’t give people hydrophobia.”
“The cats may give you something worse than
hydrophobia,” she persisted. “I want you to
promise me you will be careful.”
I told her there was nothing to worry about. I
said it was going to be fun.
CHAPTER II
CATS, AND MORE CATS I
Tutter is a small town and it wasn’t very long
before everybody thereabouts knew of the feline
rest farm. On the few occasions when the pro-
fessor went down town he attracted a great deal
of amused attention. People meeting him in the
streets looked at him and smiled. It is always
that way with men who have the courage to start
something new. I read one time that the man
who invented the umbrella was arrested when he
appeared in a London street on a rainy day with
his new contrivance raised above his head. And
when bathtubs first came out some of our big
American cities passed laws against them, the
doctors contending that people who took baths in
the winter time would catch cold and die. So it
wasn’t surprising that a lot of Tutter people saw
fit to laugh at the professor’s scheme. They
didn’t know any better.
21
22 JERRY TODD AND
Once when we were down town getting a load
of boxes we met the Strieker gang. We hate them
like they hate us. Bid and Jimmy Strieker are
cousins and one is just as mean as the other, only
Bid is the ringleader, kind of. He went “meow!”
at us. He didn’t do any more “meowing” though
when Peg lit into him. Peg’s a scrapper, I’ll tell
the world. We chased the whole gang into Zulu-
town. That part of town beyond the brickyard
where the Strieker cousins live is called Zulu-
town. The kids who live there and pal around
with Bid and Jimmy are a tough lot. All they
want to do is fight and destroy things. The only
time they ever go to Sunday-school is just before
Christmas. That’s a pretty cheap way of getting
a present.
While we were working in the old mill, getting
the cat boxes fixed up with slats up and down the
front and each box numbered, the professor wrote
the advertisement about the feline rest farm and
sent it to the Chicago Tribune. It was a dandy
advertisement, we thought, with a lot of big words
that made it sound important. When the adver¬
tisement appeared in the newspaper it attracted a
great deal of attention. We came to realize this
more fully in the days that immediately followed.
Here is the advertisement:
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 23
Professor Ellsworth Stoner’s
FELINE REST FARM
Give your pet feline the same thoughtful car#
and scientific attention that you bestow upon
your children.
I will help you. Having made a life study of
the felis domestica I have arranged to give th#
public elect the benefit of my years of research
and have established at Tutter, Illinois, the first
Feline Rest Farm in the world.
For the small sum of one dollar per week you
can have your pet feline domiciled in my Feline
Rest Home. For this insignificant sum your
feline will be given scientific care and attention.
Should you be leaving your city home for the
summer, arrange to have your feline placed un¬
der my care.
Only a limited number of felines will be accom¬
modated, so act at once and avoid possible dis¬
appointment.
Professor Ellsworth Stoner s Feline Rest Farm,
Tutter, Illinois .
The advertisement appeared in the newspaper
Monday morning and on Tuesday the cats be¬
gan to arrive. A box containing two cats came
first, followed by two crates, one containing seven
cats and the other nine. On the noon train from
24 JERRY TODD AND
Chicago a third crate arrived, packed so full of
cats it was a wonder some of them weren’t
squashed. We thought there must be fully thirty
cats in the crate, but when we came to count them
there were only eighteen.
We were kept so busy unpacking cats that we
never once thought of going home to dinner. The
professor was very much excited over the way
things were turning out. We were excited, too.
It was plain to us that the cat farm was going to
be a humdinger of a success. A feeling of satis¬
faction grew up within us in the thought that we
had taken hold of this new idea of the professor’s
and were helping to make it work. Any one can
copy another person’s idea. We weren’t copying.
We were doing something that never had been
done before. That is what filled us with quiet
pride when success came crowding in. I bet Mr.
Edison has the same happy feeling when he finally
gets the kinks ironed out of his great mechanical
inventions and the wheels and cogs spin around
just as he wants them to.
We had placed the black cat in box number
one. When the other cats were distributed thirty-
seven boxes were occupied. And such a collection
of cats! None of them looked like what you’d
call high-toned cats. Rich people’s cats, I mean.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 25
Scoop said they looked to him like alley cats.
We were disappointed in this, having figured that
cats coming from wealthy homes would be differ¬
ent than the cats we had been used to seeing in
Tutter — something a little nicer, as it were, with
long, silky hair, or something like that.
There were white cats and black cats; yellow
cats and maltese cats; tiger cats and calico cats.
There were cats with short tails and cats with
long tails. One had lost a foot. Two had dam¬
aged ears-. Another was blind in its left eye.
Some of them had no pep at all; others wanted to
be spitting and clawing all the time.
And could they yowl? I’ll tell the world!
They were considerably frightened from their trip
to Tutter in the baggage car and every time we
walked past their boxes they set up a fearful
racket. Each one seemed determined to yowl
louder and longer than its neighbors.
According to the professor’s figures thirty-seven
cats meant thirty-seven dollars a week, only one
of the cats was Blacky, the cat he brought to Tut¬
ter in the covered basket, which made thirty-six
dollars a week. That was a corking good start.
The feline rest farm was going to be a big money
maker all right.
Shortly after the one o’clock whistles blew Peg
2 6 JERRY TODD AND
came back from town with a letter addressed to
Professor Stoner’s Feline Rest Farm. It was
mailed from Chicago and we hoped it would con¬
tain money. It did. When Scoop, at the pro¬
fessor’s request, opened the envelope out dropped
a ten-dollar bill. The letter was signed by a
Chicago lady named Mrs. Peter Kepple. She
stated that she was shipping us her prize rose-
colored cat, Lady Victoria, valued at five hundred
dollars. She mentioned in the letter that later
on she planned to spend a few days at the Walk¬
ers Lake Sanitarium and would then call at our
rest farm and get her cat.
Scoop dropped the letter and flourished the ten-
dollar bill.
“Hot dog!” he cried, getting in a few fancy
dance steps with his big feet.
Peg picked up the letter and squinted at it.
“A five-hundred-dollar cat,” he said in a
reflective voice. “What do you know about
that!”
The professor was plainly bewildered.
“Dear me!” he murmured. “How very ex¬
traordinary. I am at a loss to comprehend what
the dear lady means in her reference to a rose-
colored feline. Are you sure it says rose-col¬
ored?”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
27
Peg handed him the letter and he squinted at
it over the top of his spectacles.
“Whoever heard of a rose-colored cat?” Scoop
put in. “Why, rose color is a sort of pink and
red mixed. I know, because one time we sold
colored tissue paper in pa’s store. Whoever^
heard of a red cat?”
*
“Well,” I spoke up, “it would have to be red
or green or some fancy color to be worth five hun¬
dred dollars.”
“Astounding!” came weakly from the profes¬
sor. “Really, there must be some mistake. I
quite assure you there is no such thing as a
rose-colored feline.”
Scoop laughed and rustled the ten-dollar bill.
“There isn’t any mistake about the money,” he-
said. “We should worry what color cats the rich
people send us as long as they send the necessary
jack.”
The professor continued to frown in a bewild¬
ered way and teetered back and forth across the
room, his hands working nervously behind his
back. I guess it was an awful shock to him to
learn that there was a certain kind of cat in the
world he didn’t know about. After a few minutes
he drew a small book from his coat pocket and
seating himself to one side began checking up cer-
28 JERRY TODD AND
tain items and references on various pages. He
was mumbling to himself but we didn’t catch the
, words. Presently he glanced up at us and slowly
shook his head.
“Impossible,” he murmured. “Quite impossi*
ble. The dear lady must be trying to spoof us.”
Scoop grinned.
“She can spoof us all she wants to at ten dol¬
lars a spoof,” said he.
I guess you can imagine how tickled we were.
The letter and ten-dollar bill was evidence of our
success. We had felt pretty enthusiastic when the
cats arrived; but now that the money was com¬
ing in we were in a mood to bubble over.
While we were talking about the rose-colored
cat we heard heavy footsteps without the door
and two men in blue uniforms came into the mill.
They were strangers to us and looked like street
car conductors in the city, sort of. When the
professor saw them he gave a screech and I
thought for a moment that he was going to throw
a fit.
One of the men quickly stepped forward and
patted him on the arm.
“There, there, purfessor! Nothin’ to git ex¬
cited about. Take it cool, old dear; take it cool.
We just thought we’d drop in and see if you
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
29
aren’t through with your little vacation. Now,
purfessor, don’t lose your head. Be calm; be
calm. If you only knew how much we’ve missed
you, you would want to hurry back with us.”
For a moment we were too astonished to say
a word. We just stood there and stared, our
lower jaws sagging like we didn’t know very
much. It came to me in a vague way that the
men were policemen or some kind of guards.
The professor was whimpering like a baby. I
realized from his actions that something was
wrong.
Scoop recovered his voice.
“Wha-at’s the rip?” he wanted to know, look¬
ing first at the professor, then at the guards.
“He’s just a little off up here,” one of the men
explained, tapping the side of his head. “Belongs
over at the county infirmary. Harmless and all
that, but a bug on cats. Thinks he’s the great
know-it-all when it comes to cats. Plumb non¬
sense, of course.” Here the guard paused and
glanced around the room at the cat boxes. A grin
spread over his big red face. “I see he’s been
working his hobby overtime.”
Scoop made a gurgling sound in his throat.
“But you — you aren’t going to take him away!”
he cried.
3o JERRY TODD AND
“Sure thing,” replied the guard.
“You can’t do that,” Scoop argued, “because
this is his feline rest farm. He started it, and all
these cats have been sent to him to be taken care
of. What are we going to do with the cats if
you take him away?”
The guard ran his fingers through his hair and
shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Sorry, boys, but we’ve got to take him back
with us. We came for him. If we were to go
back without him the superintendent would fire
us.”
In his actions Scoop made me think of a drown¬
ing man grabbing at straws.
“Maybe there’s some mistake,” he cried. “You
say he belongs at the county infirmary, but he
came from Chicago. We were at the depot the
day he got here. He was right with the Chicago
crowd.”
“Probably got on the train at Ashton,” said the
guard, naming a neighboring town. Then he
turned from Scoop and instructed his companion:
“Look around, Taylor, and pick up his things.
That’s his basket over there. Are you ready,
purfessor? Fine! Well, good-by, boys. Thanks
for taking care of our friend till we managed to
locate him.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 31
The professor didn’t want to leave. He tried
to hold back, but the guards were big men and
he was helpless in their hands. They took a firm
grip on his arms and hurried him out of the mill
and into an automobile standing in front.
Well, I can’t describe our feelings as the pro¬
fessor and the guards disappeared through the
doorway of the old mill, leaving us alone with the
cats. For several moments we stood there staring
at one another. Sort of stunned and horrified-
like. No one said a word. Then the guard
named Taylor returned to the door.
“The purfessor seems kinda worried about
somethin’ and asked me to come back and tell you
there hain’t no sech animal as a rose-colored cat.
A rose-colored cat! Wouldn’t that put a grin on
Sober Sue! Haw! haw! haw! That’s all, boys.
Good-by and good luck.”
We heard his footsteps die away. An automo¬
bile motor churned into motion. There was a
clashing of gears. Then silence.
Scoop acted as though his knees were giving
out.
“Good night!” he screeched, dropping onto
the nearest cat box. “Just think, fellows: The
professor loony and no one to take care of this
gang of cats but us.” Then he let out another
32 JERRY TODD AND
yip as the cat beneath him yowled and slapped
at his dangling legs with its claws.
Peg gave a sickly grin.
“I don’t know,” said he, “are we lucky or not.”
“Lucky I” snorted Scoop. “With this gang of
hungry cats on our hands ! How do you get like
that?”
“Well,” said Peg in his deliberate way, “we’ll
be lucky, won’t we, if we can run this cat farm
and make a lot of money?”
“You’re crazy as a loon,” declared Scoop,
which is the kind of bouquets he usually hands
out when he gets excited. “The cat farm is a
pipe-dream. I thought so when the professor
told us about it at the depot. Like a boob, though,
I let him kid me into thinking there was some¬
thing to it.”
“There is something to it,” Peg defended.
“Look how the cats are coming in. Thirty-seven
the first two days. I don’t see why the feline rest
farm has to be a failure just because they took
the professor away. Why can’t we run it? No
one has a better right.”
Like Peg, I was thinking to myself it would be
fine if we could keep on running the cat farm and
make it pay. He thought we could do it. I
thought so, too. There was Lady Victoria, the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 33
five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat. The fact
that the woman who owned the cat had sent us
ten dollars was a pretty good indication that the
feline rest farm was a success, I told Scoop my
thoughts and he looked more cheerful. We talked
it over and decided to stick and see the thing
through. We hoped, though, that no more cats
would arrive for a week or two. Thirty-seven
was all we could manage to care for at the pres¬
ent time. We hoped, too, that the people who
had shipped us the cats would begin sending in
their money. Having only the ten-dollar bill as
working capital gave us an uncertain feeling. To
run a business right a fellow needs plenty of capi¬
tal. I’ve heard Dad say so. I realized now how
necessary capital is.
Red happened to be down town when the guards
took the professor away. Presently he tumbled
into the mill all out of breath. He was so ex¬
cited he could hardly talk.
“The baggage man — wants us to bring a truck
— to the depot,” he panted.
“What for?” I inquired.
“To take away the cats that came in on the
two-thirty. He says there’s five crates.”
Scoop gave a gasp.
“Five crates?” he repeated dully.
34 JERRY TODD AND
“Yes, five crates,” said Red. “From the way
they’re packed in I guess there must be at least
ten cats in each crate.”
Scoop clawed at his hair.
“O-h-h-h-h!” he groaned. “Five more crates
of cats. Cats, cats, cats! Nothing but cats.
Catch me, fellows, I’m going to faint.”
Red was stepping around in high feather.
“Gee, fellows,” he enthused, “ain’t things work¬
ing out slick? This makes nearly a hundred cats,
and it’s only the second day after we opened up
for business. That’s a hundred dollars a week!
Hot dog! I guess we’ll be able to start a bank,
what?” Here he paused and glanced around, a
questioning look in his eyes. “Where’s the pro¬
fessor?” he wanted to know.
We told him.
“Now that you know what we’re up against,”
Scoop said dismally, “maybe you’ll let me faint
like I wanted to.”
He was fooling, of course. No one had any in¬
tentions of fainting — not with one hundred cats
on our hands. Cats aren’t very husky when it
comes to size, but they eat something, and just
what that something was going to be was pretty
much of an uncertainty in my mind.
We were preparing to leave the mill when one
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
35
of the baggage man’s kids thrust his tousled head
in through the door and told us his pa wanted us
to get busy and take the cats away from the depot.
“Two more crates just come in,” he told us,
acting like he wanted to be patted on the back
for bringing us good news.
Scoop went wild-eyed.
“You mean there’s seven crates instead of
five?” he yipped.
“Yep,” grinned the kid. “And I bet you’ll be
tickled when you see the way they’re packed in the
last two crates.”
Scoop shoved the kid through the doorway.
Then he sat down on a cat box and laughed.
“A hundred cats,” he gurgled. “Gee-miny
crickets! It’s funny, fellows. It’s a scream.”
“Let’s hope the people who own the hundred
cats don’t forget to send us plenty of money,”
spoke up Peg. “I guess it won’t be such a laugh¬
ing matter if the owners of the cats misplace our
address.”
“I’ll say it won’t,” I agreed.
Before night everybody in Tutter knew about
the guards taking the professor back to the in¬
firmary. It seemed to strike a great many people
as being a huge joke — the fact that he was crazy
and had left the feline rest farm on our hands.
36 JERRY TODD AND
I guess, too, that nearly everybody in town knew
about the seven crates of cats at the depot. When
we went down to get the cats, driving Dad’s brick¬
yard dump cart, there was quite a crowd at the
depot. As we drove up the people stood along
the edge of the platform and grinned at us and
offered foolish suggestions. The crates contain¬
ing the cats were piled on the platform and we
could hear the cats yowling when we got within a
hundred yards of the depot.
The baggage man wasn’t very friendly.
“You kids certainly are doin’ a thrivin’ business
with your cat farm,” he growled. “I’m goin’ to
look for a new job if this keeps up. I can stand
crated chickens and dogs and pet pigs and even a
nanny goat. But deliver me from crated cats !
Listen to ’em scrap ! That’s the way they go it all
the time. I wish they’d kill each other. There’s
cat fur all over the depot.”
But he came down from his high horse long
enough to help us load the cats into the dump
cart. Then we started back toward the old mill.
When we passed down Main Street we attracted
a lot of attention. The people stood on the edge
of the sidewalk and laughed. They wanted to
know where we were going to put on the circus—
and did we have any elephants, or just cats?
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 37
Maybe you never saw a dump cart It is a
one-horse outfit on two wheels. The body is
balanced on the axle and by pulling a lever near
the driver’s seat the front end of the box tips up
letting the contents of the cart slide out at the
back. Dad uses the car for dumping scrap brick
onto the refuse pile near the canal.
When we turned into Grove Street Red Meyers
tried to act smart and balance himself on the top
cat crate. He’s always up to monkeyshines like
that. I yelled at him to sit down and quit jig¬
gling the cart, but he pretended not to hear me.
“Lookit, gang!” he yipped, standing on one
foot. u ‘Tilly Tinker,’ ” he cried, and swayed
his body back and forth in imitation of the wooden
nursery toy you frequently see in store windows.
I don’t know how the accident happened.
Maybe I struck the dumping lever with my elbow
when I turned in my seat to yell at Red. Any¬
way the hind part of the cart took a sudden dip
and there was “Tilly Tinker” in the middle of the
dusty street with seven crates of yowling cats
piled on top of him.
I don’t know who made the most racket, Red
or the cats. It was funny. When he crawled
from under the pile of crated cats and found us
laughing he wanted to fight the three of us.
38 JERRY TODD AND
Then Peg yelled:
“The cats, fellows ! One of the crates is
busted,” and he jumped out of the cart and made
a wild grab at a pair of furry tails. In less than
seven seconds the street seemed full of scamper¬
ing cats. They beat it in a dozen directions. We
tried to catch all of them but it was a hard job.
Maybe six or eight got away from us. I don’t
know.
Peg likes to tease Red. I never suspected,
though, that he was starting a joke when he said:
“Say, Red, there’s one of the cats over on Miss
Prindle’s front porch. I bet you can’t catch it.”
“I bet I can,” bragged Red.
“Your feet are too big,” said Peg. “You move
around like a steam roller. By the time you get
within ten feet of the porch the cat will be in the
next block.”
“Is that so!” snorted Red. Hitching up his
pants he started across the street.
Pretty soon he came to the porch steps. The
cat seemed to be sleeping and didn’t notice him.
That was funny, I thought. Then I tumbled to
the fact that it was Miss Prindle’s pet Angora.
Sneaking up the porch steps on his hands and
knees, Red made a lunge for the cat. It gave an
awful yowl. Miss Prindle appeared in the door-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
39
way with a broom. I suspect she came to the
porch to do some sweeping. She forgot all about
sweeping, though, when she saw Red hanging to
her cat. Down came the broom on his head.
“Tryin’ to steal my Tabby to put in your silly
cat farm, are you?” she cried, getting in another
lick. “I’ll teach you to keep out of my yard and
leave my cat alone. Take that and that,” and
poor Red got a couple more husky whacks.
He limped back to the dump cart rubbing his
head.
“I’ll get even with her,” he growled, glaring
in Miss Prindle’s direction. Then he saw us grin¬
ning and tumbled to the fact that Peg had put up
a job on him. “Yes,” he gritted, scowling at Peg,
“and I know some one else I’ll get even with,
too.”
When we reached the old mill we took the cats
out of the crates and shut them in the boxes we
had fixed up. We counted seventy-nine. As we
already had thirty-seven before this last bunch
arrived, our total was now one hundred and six¬
teen. We had to double up with a number of the
cats and put two in a box.
When the cats were taken care of we sat down
to talk things over, because, as Scoop pointed out,
the situation was getting complicated to say the
4o . JERRY TODD AND
least. Twice that afternoon we had stoppfcd in at
the post office, hoping more money would arrive
in the mail. Each time the post office box that
Professor Stoner had rented was empty.
“So far,” said Scoop, “with the exception of the
ten-dollar bill it has been all cats and no coin.
Maybe you can tell me what we are going to do
if the cats keep on coming and the money doesn’t
show up.”
“I think the money’ll come pretty soon,” Red
said hopefully. “We can’t expect everything to
happen the first day or two.”
“The advertisement in the Chicago newspaper
didn’t say that people had to pay in advance.,” I
reminded. “Maybe the owners of the cats ex¬
pect us to send them a bill at the end of each
week, like the storekeepers do.”
“Who are we going to send the bills to?” said
Scoop, acting like he wanted to corner me.
“To the owners of the cats,” I said.
“Who are they?” he followed up.
Well, I couldn’t answer that. It is a fact that
we didn’t have the names and addresses of the
people who had sent us the cats. I knew it as
well as Scoop did, but I had let it slip my mind.
There was a brief silence.
“I’m beginning to think,” said Scoop, “that
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 4*
there is some joke about these cats. Every one
around here thinks so. Anyway, if the coin doesn’t
begin to come in pretty soon, or if we don’t get
some letters from the owners of the cats, 1 guess
we won’t be in doubt as to whether or not it’s a
joke.”
Peg had a thoughtful look.
“If it does turn out that way,” he put in,
“what’ll we do with the cats?”
Red giggled.
“That’s easy,” he cried. “We’ll turn ’em
loose.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” Scoop said quickly.
“That’s one thing we can’t do.”
“Why not?” said Red.
“Dad told me this noon,” said Scoop, “that Bill
Hadley told him if we tried turning the cats loose
in Tutter he’d put us in the cooler.”
Bill Hadley is the Tutter cop. He’s a pretty
good friend of ours, like I wrote about in my
whispering mummy book, but we knew if he told
Mr. Ellery he would put us in jail he’d stand by
his word. When it comes to enforcing the law
Bill has no favorites.
“How did Bill come to tell your father that?”
inquired Peg.
“Like I mentioned,” said Scoop, “everybody
42 JERRY TODD AND
around here seems to think this rest farm is a
joke. The people expect that sooner or later
we’ll have to get rid of the cats. I guess they told
Bill to keep an eye on us so the cats wouldn’t be
turned loose on them. Safety first, kind of.”
Peg giggled, his big mouth stretching from ear
to ear.
“Let’s sell ’em to the butcher,” he suggested.
“They ought to make fine sausages. We’ll help
the butcher fix up a dandy advertisement to go in
his window: ‘Try our famous feline sausages.
Made from carefully-selected, hand-picked speci¬
mens, secured from Professor Stoner’s celebrated
Feline Rest Farm.’ How’s that? Pretty nifty,
eh?”
I continued the nonsense by suggesting:
“Or we can have a rummage sale and get rid
of ’em that way.”
“Why not form a company,” grinned Red.
“ ‘The Tutter Mouse Exterminator Company,
Limited.’ We can rent the cats out in gangs at
so much a day.”
Scoop gave a disgusted grunt and sprang to
his feet.
“You’re getting worse and worse. As idea ar¬
tists you’d make second-class bricklayers. I move
we adjourn till some one gets a real hunch.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
43
We started for town. A short distance from
the old mill we met the baggage man’s boy coming
on the run.
“Say, Scoop,” he yelled, before he reached us.
“Say it,” Scoop said without enthusiasm.
“There’s two more crates at the depot.”
Right away I thought of the five-hundred-dol-
lar, rose-colored cat.
“Come on,” I yipped. “Let’s beat it for the
depot. Maybe Lady Victoria’s arrived.”
“Nix,” said Scoop, “there’s been no train from
Chicago.”
The boy shook his head.
“No,” said he, “these cats came from Peoria.”
Scoop looked like he had a pain in his stomach.
“Where’ll they come from next?” he wailed.
CHAPTER III
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
The one hundred and twenty-six cats that we
had cooped up in boxes in the old mill certainly
made an awful racket. They yowled as though
they were getting paid for it by the hour and were
afraid some one would come along and accuse
them of loafing on the job. A thing that tended
to make them exercise their voices was their empty
stomachs. We realized that. But we had noth¬
ing to feed them. All the capital we had was the
ten-dollar bill the Chicago woman had sent us
and we were depressed in the thought that ten
dollars wouldn’t go very far when it came to buy¬
ing food for one hundred and twenty-six hungry
cats. It was a critical situation. We talked it
over with sober faces and worried minds.
“Maybe we can get some meat scraps at the
butcher shop,” Peg suggested.
“Or some stale buns at the bakery,” I spoke up.
“Stale buns!” scoffed Red. “Whoever heard
of a cat eating stale buns?”
44
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 45
“Well,” I fired back at him, “I guess these
cats’d rather eat stale buns than starve to death.”
“True enough,” said he. “And I suspect if you
were starving to death you could keep alive on
grasshoppers. But that doesn’t prove you would
rather eat grasshoppers than fried chicken. What
these cats want more than stale buns is mice and
rats. Suppose we set some traps in the brickyard
barn.”
“Milk is the food we ought to have,” said
Scoop. “Maybe we can get some at the cream¬
ery.”
I told him if we got any milk at the creamery
we’d pay for it. Old Bill Stewart, who runs the
creamery, is the stingiest man in Tutter. I knew
he wouldn’t give us a pint of skimmed milk if he
had gallons of it going to waste.
Scoop scowled in a determined way.
“We’ve got to have milk,” he persisted.
“Why not try my scheme,” spoke up Red, “and
feed the cats mice and rats?”
“A cat that eats nothing but meat is sure to
have fits,” said Scoop, “and I guess we’d be out of
luck worse than we are if this gang of cats started
in on the fit business. No, that is a thing we
must avoid. Your scheme for catching mice and
rats is all right,” he told Red, “but in addition
4 6 JERRY TODD AND
we’ve got to think up another scheme for tapping
a milk wagon, or something.”
On the instant I thought of Mrs. Maloney and
her Jersey cow. Mrs. Maloney is a nice lady and
one of my best friends. She is a widow, with no
children of her own, and that is why Dad lets her
live in one of his Zulutown houses rent free. In
addition to her cow she has a flock of chickens and
a goat. I suspect she makes a living selling but¬
ter and eggs.
Jumping to my feet I cried:
“I know how we can solve the milk problem,
fellows. We’ll ask Mrs. Maloney to help us out.”
“Yes,” Peg said without enthusiasm, “and we’ll
probably get turned down.”
“Not if we go about it in the right way,” I de¬
clared. My thoughts were skipping along. “I’ll
go over and tell her about our cats,” I said.
“She’ll naturally want to see them and I’ll bring
her back with me. We’ll be real polite and show
her around. Kind of offhand we can mention
that the cats ought to have some milk. You see if
she doesn’t offer to give us some. She’s awfully
good-hearted. Besides, she must have a lot of
skimmed milk to spare. I’ve seen her feed it to
her chickens, a pailful at a time.”
Scoop said there was nothing like trying, so I
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 47'
started for Mrs. Maloney’s house while Red and
Peg headed for town. Red was going after traps
and it was Peg’s intention to call at the butcher
shop and see what he could scare up in the way
of meat scraps.
Mrs. Maloney was in her kitchen.
“Well, well, if it ain’t me little friend, Jerry,”
she greeted warmly, when I went onto the back
porch and rapped on the screen door. “Sure,
you’re jist in time for a bite to eat,” she added,
holding open the door. “Come right in an’ have
a cookie. Whin I was bakin’ ’em this mornin’ I
says to meself : ‘Here’s hopin’ some nice boy like
Jerry Todd comes along with a good husky appe¬
tite.’ Take another, Jerry. Put a couple in your
pocket. And tell me, did the milkweed juice I sint
over help your ma’s freckles any?”
I told her I knew nothing about Mother’s freck¬
les. Then I mentioned the cats in the old mill
and asked her would she like to come over and
see them.
“We don’t make a business of showing them to
everybody,” I explained, wanting her to feel that
the invitation was very special.
“Now, would ye listen to that!” and Mrs. Ma¬
loney beamed at me in her usual kindly way.
“Sure,” she added, “I did hear somethin’ about
48 JERRY TODD AND
your cat farm. An’ whin I seen ye cornin’ along
the back walk I says to meself: ‘I bet the little
divil is here to wheedle me out of the two cats
that keep me sich fine company.’ I tell ye what
I’ll do, Jerry, seein’ as how it’s you: I’ll let ye
have one of me cats, but ye can’t have both.”
“I — I wasn’t expecting a cat,” I fumbled.
Good night! The last thing I wanted any one to
wish onto me was another cat. Of course I
couldn’t tell her so. In offering me the cat she
thought she was doing a kindness. The thought
came to me that if I refused to accept the cat we
might not get the milk. I wasn’t going to take the
chance of hurting her feelings.
“Sure, you’re welcome to the cat,” Mrs. Ma¬
loney said in a sort of liberal way. “An’ ye
needn’t say another word about it, Jerry. I don’t
know what ye want with so many cats, but it’s
proud I am to be able to help, considerin’ all the
fine things your pa and ma have done for me.
Which one would ye rather have ? — the white one,
or the black one with the short tail?”
“Which one eats the most?” I inquired.
“Sure, they’re both good feeders,” Mrs. Ma¬
loney skid reflectively. “They’re fine cats,” she
added. “Maybe the black one eats a bit the
most - ”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 49
“Then I’ll take the white one,” I put in hur¬
riedly.
“Have your own way about it, Jerry. The
white one it is if ye say the word. What I was
goin’ to remark is, that the black one with the
bob tail eats the most at meal times, but the white
one — heaven bless it! — eats all the time. Sure,
he’d have his nose in a saucer of milk the livelong
day if he had his way about it.”
“Well, he won’t have any such chance if we
take him over to the old mill,” I cried, “because
we haven’t any milk.” Maybe I was mistaken,
but it seemed to me that she turned and regarded
me with a sort of questioning look.
“Jerry,” she laughed, “whin it comes to havin’
a business head you’ve got your pa beat sivin dif¬
ferent ways. Come ! I’ve got me bonnet on, an’
I’m anxious to take a squint at these wonderful
cats you’ve bin tellin’ me about.”
She caught the white cat just outside the kitchen
door and handed it to me. I thanked her, hoping
all the time that the blamed cat would slip from
my fingers and make its escape. Then we left the
yard, taking a short-cut across the brickyard to
the old mill.
Her eyes got big and round when she saw our
family of cats.
5o JERRY TODD AND
“Mither of Moses,” she gasped, “an’ would ye
look at the cats ! Sure, I didn’t know there was
so many cats in the whole state of Illinois. What
the divil be you b’ys expectin’ to do with all these
cats?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” Scoop evaded.
Then he explained: “We’re supposed to get pay
for taking care of them, but so far the only money
we’ve seen is a solitary ten-dollar bill. Maybe
you know what’s best to feed cats, Mrs. Maloney.
You see,” he added, “we don’t know very much
about cats.”
“Give a cat a mouse an’ a dish of milk an’ he’ll
be perfectly continted,” said Mrs. Maloney. She
was passing in front of the cat boxes, peeking in
through the slats at the cats. “Sure,” she grinned,
“they’ve got good strong voices.”
Scoop touched her on the arm.
“You said something about milk, I believe,” he
put in quickly, not wanting her to get away from
the subject that was uppermost in our minds.
“Yes, about milk,” I supplemented, touching
her other arm.
She turned and squinted at us closely.
“My, what an attentive audience I have,” she
laughed. “Sure, an’ I repeat : what your cats need
mostly is milk.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
51
“Thank you for telling us, Mrs. Maloney,”
Scoop said politely. He turned to where I was
standing. “You can feed them some milk, Jerry,
) while I show Mrs. Maloney around.”
I tumbled to his scheme.
“How can I feed them milk,” I said, “when
we haven’t any?”
He scratched his head.
“That’s so,” he admitted. Then he looked
into the face of our visitor. “You don’t happen
to know where we can get a little skimmed milk
for nothing, do you, Mrs. Maloney? — like people
feed to chickens?”
She gave another hearty laugh.
“Do I? Sure, I do. You’re fine b’ys, outside
of a few p’ints I needn’t mention, an’ if you’ll
come over to the house this evenin’ after I’ve
milked an’ siparated I’ll git ye fixed up in fine
shape.”
It was mighty good of Mrs. Maloney to help
us out. We told her so. Presently Peg returned
from town with two pounds of meat scraps. That
evening we gave the cats a filling up that took
some of the yowl out of them.
The following day was Wednesday. The let¬
ter from Mrs. Kepple had reached us Tuesday
afternoon, so we felt that the rose-colored cat
52 JERRY TODD AND
would surely arrive in Tutter within a few hours.
We were anxious to see this wonderful cat.
We told each other it was wonderful in the first
place because it was worth five hundred dollars.
Never had we imagined a cat could be worth so
much money. Then, too, the fact that it was
rose-colored helped to make it wonderful. The
professor had insisted there was no such thing as
a rose-colored cat. Very shortly we were going
to see for ourselves — and we were anxious to
have the cat arrive so we could satisfy our curi¬
osity.
When we went over to the depot to meet the
morning train from Chicago the baggage man
scowled at us.
“I hope you kids ain’t hangin’ ’round here for
more cats,” he growled.
“You bet we are,” Scoop returned. “We’re
expecting Lady Victoria to arrive this morning,”
he added loftily.
The baggage man’s scowl deepened.
“Who’s Lady Victoria?” he wanted to know.
“Maybe,” countered Scoop, “you never heard
of a rose-colored cat.”
“Naw,” growled the man, “an’ I never heard
of a green pig, nuther.”
“Lady Victoria,” continued Scoop, “is a rose-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 53
colored cat worth five hundred dollars. She be¬
longs to a swell society lady in Chicago.”
The baggage man walked away, shaking his
head and muttering to himself. I guess he thought
Scoop was dippy.
When the train pulled into the station we ran
down the platform to the baggage car. A box
was unloaded that looked to us as though it might
contain the cat we were expecting. In our excite¬
ment we would have climbed onto the truck if the
baggage man hadn’t yelled at us to keep down.
“Here’s another cat,” he told us. Then his
scowl turned into a grin as he better observed the
cat in the box. “Calc’late it must be your rose-
colored cat,” he added. “Who did you say was
sending it?”
“Mrs. Peter Kepple,” Scoop returned quickly.
“Well, here she be,” and the man leaned down
and handed us the box.
I guess we all held our breath as we gathered
around and peered through the chicken netting
that covered the top of the box. At last we were
to get a glimpse of what we thought must be the
most wonderful cat in the whole world. We took
a good look. Scoop was the first one to fall back.
He gave a cry of astonishment. Then he began
to laugh. Pretty soon we were all laughing.
54
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
“Yes,” said the baggage man, “it’s your rose-
colored cat, all right. I’ve seen lots of yaller
roses. Haw! haw! haw!”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” said Scoop. “Nothing
but a yellow cat. Yellow. Rose-colored. A yel¬
low cat is rose-colored when you come to think
about it,” he added, “but it’s rose-colored only
in the sense of a joke.”
Peg had a dizzy look on his face.
“It can’t be a joke on us,” he said slowly, “be¬
cause the woman sent us ten dollars and people
don’t pass out money in fun. Nope. Besides,
the woman wrote in her letter that she was coming
to the sanitarium. A rose-colored cat! Fellows,
doesn’t it strike you that she’s got a reason for
calling this cat rose-colored instead of yellow?”
Red was staring.
“You think there is some mystery about the
cat?”
Peg nodded.
“Either that,” said he, “or the woman’s blamed
queer.”
On the instant an excited thrill chased itself
up and down my backbone. In a vague unexplain¬
able way I knew that Peg had the right dope.
CHAPTER IV
LADY VICTORIA DISAPPEARS
Lady Victoria disappointed us quite as much
as she amazed and mystified us. Mindful of the
cat’s value, as given in Mrs. Kepple’s letter, we
had expected something classy; a high-toned cat*
as it were. But here was a common yellow cat.
Scoop turned from the box with a disgusted
look.
“If you were to give me my choice,” said he,
“I’d take the five hundred dollars.”
“You and me both,” said Red.
Peg was squinting into the box.
“The only classy thing about this cat is her
copper collar,” he put in.
My attention thus drawn to the cat’s collar, I
noticed that it was copper, as Peg said, and ap¬
parently brand new.
“A two-cent cat,” laughed Red, “dressed up in
a five-hundred-dollar collar.”
“The collar isn’t made of gold and diamonds,”
I put in.
55
5 6 JERRY TODD AND
“Of course not,” said Scoop. “You can buy a
collar like that in any harness store for seventy-
five cents.”
So completely did Lady Victoria and the cop¬
per collar hold our attention that we failed to take
note of the fact that three more crates of cats had
arrived on the same train that brought Mrs. Kep-
ple’s five-hundred-dollar cat. When the baggage
man shoved the cats at us we felt sort of weak in
the knees.
Scoop touched me on the arm.
“Jerry,” said he, “you better go to the brick¬
yard and borrow your pa’s dump cart.”
“All right,” I agreed.
“While you and Red and Peg are carting the
cats to the old mill,” he added, “I’ll skin down
the street to the Western Union office and send a
telegram to the Chicago Tribune ordering them
to discontinue the ad about the feline rest farm.
I’ll have to bust the ten-dollar bill to pay for the
message, but if we don’t send the telegram we’re
likely to find ourselves with five hundred more
cats wished onto us. This is getting to be too
much of a good thing to suit me,” he concluded
dismally, scowling at the crated cats.
The rest of us agreed with Scoop that he
couldn’t send the telegram to the Chicago Tribune
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
57
any too soon. What we would do if more cats
came in no one could imagine.
When we uncrated the cats that arrived that
morning we counted twenty-three. Already we
had one hundred and twenty-seven in the num¬
bered boxes, so the new arrivals boosted the total
to an even one hundred and fifty.
Though it was hard for us to believe that a
plain-looking cat like Lady Victoria could be worth
five hundred dollars, we nevertheless used spe¬
cial care in handling her. She was given one of
the larger boxes and provided with a carpet roll
for a bed. Acting the monkey, Red even put a
hook on the side of her box and told us it was for
her tooth brush. Peg said we should get her a
powder puff. This fun helped to cheer us up.
The traps were baited that morning and set in
likely places in the lower part of the old mill and
in the brickyard barn. We were in hopes that we
would catch a rat or a mouse in each trap. This
would help a lot.
There was plenty for us to do. If you think it’s
a snap to feed one hundred and fifty cats, just
try it. Of course we got some help from the
kids who hung around. Even the Strieker cous¬
ins came snooping that afternoon to see what
we were doing. We chased them away. Then
58 JERRY TODD AND
they fired rocks at the old mill from the top of
the hill. Every time a rock hit the roof the cats
yowled like they were being killed.
When evening came we sat around and talked
*. in a dispirited way. There was a general lack of
enthusiasm. As yet we were unwilling to give up
the cat farm; but, as Peg pointed out, this might
become necessary and we ought accordingly to
shape our plans for getting rid of the cats. We
knew he was talking sense. But no one came for¬
ward with a suggestion worthy of consideration,
and that is what put a sober feeling into us.
Mrs. Maloney came over about eight-thirty to
see how we were getting along. She brought us
a cherry pie. It was very welcome. As she was
leaving for home she reminded us to come over in
the morning and get some more milk for the
cats.
“An’ maybe I’ll have some cookies for ye,” she
added. Mrs. Maloney’s all right.
The moon came up at nine o’clock, a big white
disc in the eastern sky where the Tutter slaughter
house lifts its roof on Knob Hill. It was a very
beautiful sight. Thirty minutes later we turned in,
Peg and I sleeping in separate cots while Red and
Scoop shared the big cot we had fixed up for the
professor. An hour passed. I found it hard to
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 59
get to sleep, as the moonlight came through a
window and fell on my face. Without the mill
the world of living things seemed to expire into a
tomb of silence. Canal frogs that croaked lustily
in the gray dusk of early evening were now asleep
in their muddy beds. The katydid chorus had
disbanded. Through the open window I could
see the trees that grew on the hillside, but the
leaves had tired of the day’s adventures and
rested with closed and unobserving eyes. It was
a peachy night. Once I got up from my cot and
went to the window. The shadows beneath the
trees seemed possessed of goblin-like shapes. A
creepy feeling came out of the night and touched
me. Then I laughed at my vague fears and went
back to bed. The others were asleep. Scoop
was snoring. I counted a few hundred hurtling
sheep and shortly joined my companions in the
land of dreams.
I don’t know how long I slept. Maybe not
more than half an hour. Suddenly I found my¬
self sitting upright in bed. In a dazed way I
realized something was wrong. The cats in the
adjoining room were yowling and spitting. I
could hear barking dogs and the low tones of
tittering voices.
By this time the other fellows were awake.
60 JERRY TODD AND
“Somebody’s got their dogs in there lettin’ ’em
chew up our cats,” Scoop cried, springing to his
feet.
The noise increased to a din. We could not
doubt that a wild battle was in progress between
our cats and a number of unknown dogs. Then
I heard a giggle and a rock whizzed through the
open window, narrowly missing my head.
“It’s the Strieker gang,” I cried, and the fear
that had gripped me went down under a flood of
anger. “It’s just like them,” I added bitterly,
“to come sneaking around here after dark with a
lot of dogs to try and bust up our cat farm.”
“We’ll chase ’em out of here,” cried Peg.
“Everybody grab a club. Take a board- — any¬
thing. All fixed? Atta boy! Come on, gang.”
He opened the connecting door. Four big dogs
were bounding about the outer room, tipping over
the cat boxes and clawing at the slats. Several of
the cats had escaped and were clinging to the posts
that supported the roof beams.
Peg raised his club and dashed forward. The
Strieker cousins and the other members of the
Zulutown gang were just inside the door. When
they saw us they gave a jeering shout and ran
away. Out through the open door we chased the
dogs. I gave one a good whack with my club.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 61
He let out a fearful yelp. I was glad I hit him.
Only I wished it was Bid Strieker I was hitting in¬
stead of his dog. We didn’t try to follow the
Strieker s. We knew we couldn’t find them in the
shadows that lay heavy and black beneath the sur¬
rounding trees. When they were gone from
sight and the dogs had been chased away we re¬
turned to the mill to see how much damage had
been done.
“Just wait,” Scoop declared, when we were
putting the cat boxes to rights. “We’ll make the
Strieker gang pay dear for this night’s work.”
“You bet your sweet life,” growled Peg, nod¬
ding his head.
“The only reason they got the upper hand of
us to-night,” continued Scoop, “was because they
caught us unprepared. To-morrow night we’ll
lay for them.”
“I doubt if they’ve got nerve enough to come
back,” said Peg.
“You never can tell,” returned Scoop. “Any¬
way, we’ll be on guard. If they do come back
we’ll give them a trimming they won’t forget for
a few weeks. Um - Leave it to me, fellows.
I’ll think up some kind of a scheme for trapping
V „ 1)
em.
We corrected the disorder as best we could, re-
62
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
pairing the broken boxes and putting them in their
proper places. Then we caught the cats that were
loose in the room. I was happy under the
thought that our job was almost completed when
suddenly Scoop let out a screech that sent my
heart skidding into my throat. I wheeled to find
him dumbly pointing to Lady Victoria’s box. It
was empty ! In the fracas the box had been tipped
over and the five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat
had escaped into the night or had been carried
away by the Strieker gang.
When I thought of what the loss of the cat
meant to us 1 wasn’t surprised that Scoop’s voice
was filled with dismay.
CHAPTER V
AN UNSUCCESSFUL OPERATION
Following the discovery of the empty cat box
we lighted a lantern and searched the room, peer¬
ing into all the shadowy nooks and crevices.
“Now we are in a fix,” groaned Scoop, when
it became plain to us that Mrs. Kepple’s five*
hundred-dollar cat had positively disappeared
from the old mill.
Red set the lantern on a box and hitched it
his belt.
“Well?” he said shortly, meaning what should
we do next in an attempt to locate the rose-col¬
ored cat.
About to shape a reply, I was cut short by an
ear-splitting yowl. Never in all my life had I
heard a yowl so chock-full of quivering terror.
It appeared to come trom the lower floor of the
mill. Without a doubt some cat near us was in
serious trouble.
Scoop leaped into action.
63
6 4 JERRY TODD AND
“Lady Victoria, I bet,” he cried. “Quick, fel¬
lows,” and taking the lantern he dashed through
the doorway into the open. We were close on
his heels as he rounded the corner of the mill and
tumbled pell-mell down the slope to the lower
door.
The yowling grew sharper when we entered the
basement room. Guided by the sounds we soon
located a yellow cat in one corner. It was Lady
Victoria beyond a doubt, because the copper col¬
lar on the cat’s neck glistened dully in the lantern’s
light. At a second glance we observed that the
jaws of a rat trap had closed midway on the long
tail.
When we released the cat it was plain to all of
us that the tail bone was broken. Four inches of
the tail’s tip end hung by the skin. A five-hun-
dred-dollar cat with a broken tail! I could not
doubt that the damaged tail put Lady Victoria
forever out of the blue ribbon class, the same as
a broken leg ends a racing horse’s track career.
She might have been worth five hundred dollars
when she was whole; but only a person with a
wild imagination would argue that she was worth
that amount of money with a bob tail. In the
thought that we would be held responsible I felt
sick and discouraged.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 65
Returning to the upper room I replaced the cat
in its box, handling it gently so as not to cause it
unnecessary pain. The other fellows stood back
of me looking on.
‘‘Maybe,” said Red, “if we had some glue we
could stick the tail in place and it would grow
there. They do that with trees. Eh, Scoop?”
“Lady Victoria isn’t made of wood,” retorted
Scoop.
“It might work,” persisted Red.
“Shucks!” snorted Scoop, giving the other a
disgusted look.
Red got huffy, which is the easiest thing he can
do.
“I suppose you know all about fixing broken
cats - I mean, fixing broken cat-tails - I
mean - ” He clawed his hair. “Good night!”
he fumbled. “I don’t know what I do mean.”
Peg snickered.
“Some one page the dingey wagon for Red
Meyers,” he yipped.
Scoop pretended he was talking into a tele¬
phone.
“Is this the dingey house?” he inquired, put¬
ting a grave look on his face. “Very well, sir,”
he added, “please send your hurry-up wagon to
the Tutter Feline Rest Farm. Make it snappy.
66 JERRY TODD AND
We have a red-headed lunatic here who wants to
engage one of your padded parlors.”
“Shucks !” I put in. “Cut out the nonsense and
do something for the cat.”
“What can we do?” said Peg.
“The tail ought to be bandaged up,” I said*
“and salve put on it to make it heal.”
Scoop yawned.
“We’ll do that to-morrow. Come on and let’s
go to roost.”
It occurred to us that possibly the Strieker gang
might return to the old mill under the thought
that we were asleep, so we took turns standing
guard. But nothing happened.
The following morning we finished repairing
the cat boxes and then Peg went over to Mrs.
Maloney’s house for the skimmed milk she had
promised to save for us. When Red inspected the
traps he found fourteen mice and two rats. This
was hardly a taste for our big family of cats.
In dividing the mice and rats among the cats
Scoop said we better feed them in groups, so we
selected the white cats for the first feast. It was
fun to watch the cats fight. One would grab a
mouse and run with it, clawing and spitting at the
cats pursuing it.
“If they were wise,” laughed Scoop, “they
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 67
would work in pairs, one chewing the head and
the other the hind feet. Then their scrapping
would be confined to the final bite.”
“Which shows that you don’t know very much
about cats,” I put in quickly.
He looked at me.
“A cat,” I added, “always starts eating a
mouse at the head end, saving the tail till the
last.”
“What’s the idea?” Scoop inquired.
“It uses the tail to pick its teeth with,” I
grinned.
Here Peg came in with the milk and a sackful
of cookies. We left Red to watch things and
went home to breakfast. Afterwards I joined
Scoop and Peg down town. They had stopped in
at the post office but the cat farm box was empty
as usual. I wasn’t surprised. Like the others I
realized that with the exception of Lady Victoria
the cats had been sent to us as a joke. I had per¬
sistently hoped, though, that a few dollars would
show up. Our money was fast dwindling away.
Scoop had his pockets full of scissors and
things.
“What’s the keyhole saw for?” I inquired, when
we were hurrying along the path to the old
mill.
68 JERRY TODD AND
“I’ll likely need it in performing the operation,”
he grinned.
“What operation?” I inquired.
“Well,” he countered, “we’ve got to fix Lady
Victoria’s damaged tail, haven’t we?”
I nodded.
“That’s the operation I mean.”
“And you expect to use those wire cutters and
that saw on the cat?” I cornered, staring at him.
“It’s just as well to be prepared for emergen¬
cies,” was his offhand reply.
“Good night!” I cried, and promptly told him
I was sorry for the poor cat.
Presently we arrived at the old mill. When
Red saw the scissors and wire cutters he made us
promise to delay the operation till he returned
from breakfast.
“I don’t want to miss a thing,” he told us.
Then he beat it for home.
Viewed in the morning sunlight, Lady Victoria
seemed very much dejected and shy of pep. Be¬
fore the accident she was one of the scrappiest
cats in the mill. Now she crouched in a corner
of her box like a forlorn, hunted thing.
In planning the operation Scoop told us the
first step was to cut the skin that held the dan¬
gling tail to the stub. Under his directions we
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 69
made an operating table of a box and flopped
Lady Victoria onto her back. She clawed and
spit. Red held to the front feet while I man¬
aged the hind pair. Peg stood around and criti¬
cized, handing the operating tools to Scoop as he
called for them.
When everything was ready Scoop snipped the
skin with the scissors and the cat doubled up like
a jackknife.
“Steady now, fellows,” he cautioned. “I’ve
got to examine the bone. Hand me that basin
of water, Peg. Um - Just as I thought. The
bone is slivered.” Here he did something to the
stub that caused the cat to double up a second
time. “Don’t let her do that, fellows. Steady
now. I want to saw the jagged bone.”
He ran the teeth of the saw across the end of
Lady Victoria’s stub. In spite of all Red and I
could do the cat squirmed under our grip and re¬
peated the jackknife stunt.
Scoop ran his fingers through his hair in a
thoughtful way. “Guess we’ll have to give her
chloroform,” he decided.
“Will that fix the tail?” Red inquired quickly.
“It’ll put her to sleep,” explained Scoop.
“Haven’t you heard how patients in hospitals are
given chloroform when operations are being per-
70 JERRY TODD AND
formed on them? As I understand it the chloro¬
form makes them sleep through the operation and
they don’t know what the doctors are doing to
them.”
“Maybe it won’t work on a cat,” Red said
doubtfully.
“Sure it will,” declared Scoop. Presently he
added decisively: “Yes, we’ll have to give Lady
Victoria chloroform. That’s the only way to do
the job up proper. It hadn’t ought to take a great
deal. Here’s a dime, Red. You’re a good run¬
ner. Suppose you beat it for the drug store and
tell the clerk you want ten cents’ worth of chloro¬
form. If he thinks you’re going to commit
suicide, tell him about the cat.”
Red scowled.
“Gosh!” he complained. “I have to do all
the running.” He took the dime, though, and
started for town.
I guess chloroform is pretty expensive. Any¬
way, Red didn’t bring back more than a thimble¬
ful. We figured there wasn’t enough in the bot¬
tle to make Lady Victoria sleep very long, so
decided it would be best to give the chloroform
to her in one dose.
“You’ll have to work fast,” Peg told Scoop.
The latter had a puzzled look on his face as
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
7r
he alternately squinted at the cat and chloroform
bottle.
“Um — Which is the right way to give it
to her?” he inquired. “Inside or outside?”
“Try it both ways,” I suggested.
He shook his head.
“Not enough chloroform,” he explained.
“I think you should let her smell of it,” said
Peg.
Acting on this suggestion, Scoop held the un¬
corked bottle close to Lady Victoria’s nose. In¬
stead of putting her to sleep it started her to
yowling.
“How long do I have to let her smell of it?”
inquired Scoop, glancing up at Peg.
Red gave a laugh.
“I knew you fellows would be up against it
when it came to using the chloroform,” he said.
Scoop straightened.
“Do you know how to do it?”
“Sure thing,” said Red. “I asked the man
in the drug store.”
“What did he say?”
“You should put the chloroform on a cloth
and hold the cloth over the cat’s nose and mouth.
Then it will breathe the chloroform smell and
go to sleep.”
72 JERRY TODD AND
Scoop followed these directions. In no time
at all Lady Victoria stopped squirming. When
she was perfectly limp Red and I released her
feet.
“Gosh!” I cried. “She ain’t dead, is she?”
She looked dead to me.
Scoop was visibly uncertain.
“Feel of her heart, Red, and see if it’s still
beating. Naw, that isn’t the place to feel of.
Here, let me do it.” There was a brief silence.
“I guess she’s still breathing,” he told us. “I
can feel something wiggle under the skin. Um —
I’ll have to hurry with the operation or she’ll
be coming to her senses before I get the tail fixed.”
Here he took the saw and brought it down
across Lady Victoria’s stub. This time the cat
didn’t double up. When the jagged bone end
had been sawed off he took a file and smoothed the
corners. Then he drew the skin down over the
stub and tied a string around it. It gave the
cat a puckered look. Applying salve, he com¬
pleted the operation by bandaging the stub with
strips of cloth torn from an old pillow case he
had brought from home.
Straightening, he drew a deep breath.
“There,” he said proudly.
Lady Victoria looked queer with the bandage
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
73
on her stub. We wondered how she would act
when she recovered her senses.
A minute passed. Two minutes.
“Hadn’t she ought to be waking up pretty
soon?” Peg inquired anxiously.
We looked at Red.
“I never asked the drug store clerk how to
wake her up,” he confessed.
“Maybe we ought to fan her — like they do
people who faint,” I suggested.
“Or sprinkle her with cold water,” Peg put in.
“We’ll try both,” decided Scoop. He sprinkled
on the water while Peg and I did the fanning.
This failed to do a bit of good. Lady Victoria
lay through it all, perfectly motionless. I touched
her and found that she was getting stiff.
By this time Scoop was, thoroughly scared.
His hands trembled as he felt up and down the
cat’s sides to see if he could detect a heart action.
“Here’s a little bump,” he mumbled. “It’s
either her heart or a button she’s swallowed.
But it’s perfectly still,” he added in a hushed
voice. He looked soberly into our faces. “Hon¬
est, fellows, I believe she’s dead.”
Dismay gripped us when we faced the fact
that the five-hundred-dollar cat was really dead.
The broken tail had been bad enough, but to have
74 JERRY TODD AND
the cat expire on our home-made operating tabl*
was a thousand times worse. We realized now,
when it was too late, that the operation was &
crazy mistake. A cat with a damaged tail was
better than no cat at all.
Scoop felt pretty cheap over the way he had
bungled things. Collecting the keyhole saw and
other operating tools he grimaced at us.
“The man who started the report that a cat
has nine lives sure guessed wrong.” There was
a brief silence as he cleaned the blade of his
pocketknife. “Well, fellows,” he added, “I
guess the only thing for us to do is to wait till
the Chicago woman arrives at the samtarium.
We’ll tell her what happened and face the music.”
His reference to Lady Victoria’s owner filled
me with vague alarm. I still believed there was
some sort of mystery connected with the rose-
colored cat. It had been sent to us under that
queer name for a reason known only to its owner.
Beyond all doubt the woman wanted the cat
returned to her alive. What would happen to
us when she learned that the cat was dead I
could only imagine.
An hour later we buried Lady Victoria on the
hilltop back of the old mill. As she was no
ordinary cat we placed her in a small cheese box
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 75
that had lost its strong smell and put some of
Mrs. Maloney’s sunflowers on the grave. Red
fixed up a marker on which he lettered:
Here lies Lady Victoria,
A feline most forlorn,
Who lost her lives — all nine of them— -
By an overdose of chloroform.
Having thus paid our final respects to the rose-
colored cat we went with Scoop to the brick¬
yard office and listened while he telephoned to
the sanitarium. The desk clerk informed him
over the wire that Mrs. Kepple, having elected
to motor to Tutter, was due to arrive at the
sanitarium the following Monday morning.
CHAPTER VI
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR
That afternoon Scoop drove up to the old
mill in one of his pa’s delivery wagons.
“What’s the idea?” inquired Peg.
“The idea is,” Scoop returned grimly, “that
we’re going to get rid of these blamed cats.”
Red let out a crazy yip.
“I thought maybe you were going to put velvet
cushions in the delivery wagon and take the
cats out for an airing,” he giggled.
“You guessed it,” was Scoop’s unexpected ac¬
knowledgment.
Red stared.
“I’m going to take them on an airing trip into
the country,” laughed Scoop, “and drop them
at a farmhouse.”
“Yes,” I put in, “and have Bill Hadley land
on us like a ton of lead. Help yourself,” I
added, motioning him away, “but leave me out
of it.”
“Bill Hadley doesn’t own the whole country,”
76
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 77
argued Scoop, bobbing his head. “Not so you
can notice it. He can stop us from dropping the
cats in town, but he has no authority outside of
the city limits.”
“L never thought of taking the cats outside
of town to get rid of them,” came thoughtfully
from Peg.
“This noon,” proceeded Scoop, “pa was tell¬
ing how he got stalled south of town in our auto
and had to hoof it to the Walkers Lake dairy
farm to borrow gasoline to get home. They keep
their gasoline in a corncrib and pa says he never
seen so many mice in all his life. One ran up his
pants leg. I laughed when he told about it.
, Then I pricked up my ears when he suggested
in a joking way that I go to the farm and sell
Mr. Hibbey some of our best mousers. Right
away I saw that here was a chance to get rid of
the cats. Only we won’t try to sell them — we’ll
let Mr. Hibbey have them for nothing.”
“All of them?” gasped Red, letting his eyes
turn to the long row of cat boxes.
“All we can take in one load,” laughed Scoop.
“Who is the lucky man who gets the rest?”
Peg wanted to know.
“Oh,” said Scoop, “we’ll drive north of town
on our second trip and drop the remaining cats
7§ JERRY TODD AND
along the Treebury pike.” He looked at his
watch. “Three-thirty. Um - Let’s make it
snappy, fellows, so we can complete the second
trip before supper time. I don’t mind telling
you that I’m dead anxious to kiss this feline rest
farm good-by.”
Under his directions we loaded the yowling
cats into two of the biggest crates. When the
crates were jammed full we drove out of town,
whistling and singing so that the people we met
on the road wouldn’t notice the cats. Coming
within sight of the dairy farm we proceeded
cautiously, because, as Scoop said, it was just as
well not to let the farmer see us in the act of
dropping the cats. When we were nicely screened
by the trees and bushes that paralleled the road¬
bed on both sides we loosened the slats of the
crates. Gee-miny crickets ! It was a sight to
see the cats boil out of the crates and disappear
across the field in the direction of the big barn.
I told the fellows that Mr. Hibbey’s mice and
rats would have a bad case of heart failure when
they saw that army of four-legged traps descend¬
ing upon them.
“Let’s hope,” laughed Scoop, “that Mr. Hib-
bey doesn’t have heart failure.”
Returning to town we tied the old horse to 21
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
79
telephone pole and ran up the hill to the cat
farm. About to dash into the mill our attention
was drawn to a letter thrust into the handle of
the door latch. It was addressed to the Tutter
Feline Rest Farm. Tearing open the envelope
Scoop read aloud:
I want to buy a dozen of your cats and will
pay fifty cents apiece. Put the cats in my base¬
ment. I am leaving the east window unlocked.
When I get back from Ashton to-morrow I will
pay you your money.
Miss Mary Prindle.
“Why,” spoke up Red, when Scoop’s voice
trailed away, “Miss Prindle is the old maid who
soaked me on the head with a broom.” His
eyes searched ours. “What do you suppose she
wants of twelve cats?” he added, a puzzled look
settling into his freckled face.
“We should worry what she wants of them,”
laughed Peg, “if we can get fifty cents apiece for
them.”
Scoop walked quickly to the row of cat boxes.
“A dozen,” he mused. “I wonder if we have
that many left.”
When we came to count the remaining cats all
we could find was eleven.
80 JERRY TODD AND
“Hot dog!” cried Red, as we loaded the cats
into a crate. “Here’s where we make five dollars
and fifty cents.”
It was twenty minutes to six when we drove
up in front of Miss Prindle’s house and carried
the crate of cats into her yard. Mrs. Wheeler,
who lives next door and usually knows everything
that goes on up and down the street, came inquis¬
itively onto her porch and stared.
“Goodness gracious!” she cried. “What are
you boys intending to do with all those cats?”
“They’re for Miss Prindle,” informed Scoop.
“She’ll skin you alive if you leave them in her
yard.”
“She ordered them from us,” declared Scoop.
“Ordered them?”
“Sure thing. She’s paying us fifty cents apiece
for them.”
Mrs. Wheeler had a dizzy look on her face
as we took the cats one at a time and dropped
them through Miss Prindle’s basement window.
Then we carried the empty crate to the wagon
and drove away.
“To-morrow,” said Scoop, as we rattled down
the dusty street, “we‘11 come back and collect
our pay.”
That evening Red and I went to the first pic-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
81
ture show. We were full of giggles. What put
us that way was the happy thought that hence¬
forth we wouldn’t have to bunk with a flock of
yowling cats.
“If I live to be five hundred years old,” said
Red, “I never want to touch another cat.”
“You and me both,” I agreed.
“It’s like being turned loose from jail,” he
added, “to be relieved of the worries of running
that old cat farm.”
“Easy,” was my warm reply.
After the show we each bought a soda, because,
as Red pointed out, there was no need of us
being tight wTith half of Miss Prindle’s five dol¬
lars and fifty cents coming to us the following
morning.
When the sodas were down we bought two
peach sundaes. Then we stopped at a fruit- stand
and spent twenty cents for bananas. We got
a lot for our money because they were so ripe.
“How about some apple pie smothered in
cream?” suggested Red, when we came even with
Mugger’s all-night restaurant.
“Hot dog!” I said, starting for the door.
Coming from the restaurant ten minutes later,
we ran into Scoop and Peg. The latter had a
big watermelon in his arms. What with the apple
82 JERRY TODD AND
pie in my stomach on top of the bananas and
everything, I can’t say was I very hungry, but
when Scoop invited Red and me to fall into line
I didn’t back down.
“Where you heading for?” Red wanted to
know.
“The Commercial House alley,” informed
Scoop.
“Bid Strieker is up the street with his gang,”
put in Peg, shifting his hold on the melon and
squinting back. “They had their heads together
like they were cooking up some scheme to get
us, so we better watch out for them. Scoop says
we can climb the hotel fire escape, then if they
come into the alley we can soak them with our
melon rinds.”
“I’d like to soak them with a donnick,” growled
Scoop, “after the dirty trick they played on us
last night.”
Pretty soon we came to the brick-paved alley
that parallels the Tutter hotel on the dining
room side. Here an iron fire escape zig-zags
its way up the building’s brick walls to the roof.
Mounting to the first balcony we got our pocket-
knives in hand and waded into the melon.
Sure enough the Strickers were hot on our
trail. They came sneaking into the alley, squint-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 83
ing into the shadowy places and talking in whis¬
pers. It never occurred to them to look up the
fire escape.
Bid Strieker stopped directly beneath us.
“They came this way,” he said in a low voice.
“Sure thing,” said Jimmy.
“Wonder where they are,” said Bid.
Peg touched each of us in turn to attract our
attention.
“We’ll show ’em where we are,” he whispered,
sort of gritty-like. “Each one get a rind. When
I count ‘three,’ let ’er fly. Ready? One, two,
three.”
I aimed for the top of Bid Strieker’s head.
He let out an awful yip when my juicy rind landed
“kerflop!” on his bean. It was as good as a
circus to see him hipper out of the alley into
Main Street, the others tumbling along on his
heels.
“You guys think you’re awful smart,” he
yelled at us from the mouth of the alley. “Just
wait, though! You’ve got something coming
when you git home to-night.”
“Please sell us some cats,” yipped Jimmy
Strieker.
“Sure thing,” another cried. “We’ll pay you
fifty cents apiece for them.”
84 JERRY TODD AND
Then the whole gang went, “Haw! haw!
haw!”
“They’re sore,” said Scoop, “because we sold
the cats to Miss Prindle and made some easy
money.”
After a bit we started for home and there
was the Strickers half a block behind us. First
one would hoot at us, then another.
“We’ll go to Jerry’s house,” suggested Scoop,
“and lay for them.”
Shortly after that we turned into our lawn.
The porch light was burning and I could see
Dad and Mother and Red’s pa and ma. Miss
Prindle was there, too. I wondered at that,
because she and Mother aren’t very thick.
Dad got his eyes on us.
“Come here,” he called.
Standing on the porch steps, Miss Prindle
wheeled and pierced us with a pair of angry
eyes.
“How dare you put your cats in my base¬
ment?” she cried. “I should have you arrested.”
Dad held up his hand.
“Just a minute, Miss Prindle. Suppose we
give the boys a chance to defend themselves.
Maybe there is some mistake.”
“I know what I am talking about,” snapped
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 85
Miss Prindle. “They put the cats in my base¬
ment and my nearest neighbor saw them do it.
One of the dirty creatures fell into a crock of
fresh crabapple marmalade, and in addition
there are broken fruit jars all over the basement
floor.”
Dad turned to me with a sober face.
“How about this, Jerry? Did you put any
cats in her basement?”
I nodded, sort of dizzy-like.
“She told us to,” I explained.
Miss Prindle gasped and stared at me as
though I was the biggest liar that ever walked
on two legs. It made me hot.
“Yes, you did,” I fired at her. “You wrote
it in a letter.”
“I did no such thing,” she denied.
“How about this?” said Scoop, and he handed
the letter to Dad, who read it aloud.
“I never wrote that,” declared Miss Prindle.
“It’s just a part of your scheme to annoy me.”
“Maybe,” Dad put in quietly, “some one has
played a joke on the boys. Have you thought
of that, Miss Prindle?”
A joke ! On the instant I went sick and dis¬
gusted in the thought that the Strieker gang had
made monkeys out of us. Yes, sir, that was it.
86 JERRY TODD AND
I could see it now. And I felt the ice cream com¬
ing up in my throat, only it didn’t get up very far
because the watermelon jumped on it and held
it down and then the bananas jumped on the
watermelon and the apple pie came up for air
and I wanted to lay down on my stomach and
groan.
“Joke or no joke,” snapped Miss Prindle,
“they’ve got to come over to my house and get
their cats.”
Dad put a steady hand on my arm.
“I reckon, Jerry, you better take the cats back
to the old mill,” he advised. “And to-morrow,”
he said to Miss Prindle, “I’ll stop in and settle
for any damage the cats have done to your crab-
apple marmalade.”
“Of course,” said Miss Prindle, sort of com¬
ing down from her high horse, “I don’t want to
be unnecessarily sharp. But when a neighbor told
me how the cats came to be in my basement I
naturally concluded they had been put there to
annoy me.”
“I don’t think Jerry would do a trick like
that,” Dad said quietly.
“Nor my Donald, either,” put in Mrs. Meyers,
meaning Red.
Well, it was nice to have our folks stick up
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 87
for us, but I can’t say did it put any happiness
into us. Growling to ourselves we got some
sacks and went over to Miss Prindle’s house and
caught the cats. We were good and hot and
we didn’t care whether they went into the sacks
tail end first or head end first. I guess not! On
the way to the old mill we told each other that we’d
get even with the Strieker gang if it took us seven¬
teen years.
It was nine-thirty when we plodded up the hill
and opened the door. Peg lit the lantern. Tak¬
ing a cat from his sack he shoved it into the near¬
est box.
“Git in there,” he growled.
“You, too,” I said, grabbing a cat and shoving
it into a box.
The cats disposed of, we sat in a circle and
looked at one another.
“Weren’t we the champion dumb-bells,” wailed
Scoop, “to let the Strieker gang pull that joke
on us?”
“We sure were asleep at the switch,” Peg
agreed unhappily.
“The thought that the Strieker gang got the
best of us is what hurts the worst,” proceeded
Scoop. “To-morrow we can easily get rid of
the cats in the country; and I guess it won’t kill
88 JERRY TODD AND
us to bunk here one more night. But to think
that we let Bid Strieker slip it over on us -
Oh, oh! It makes me sick.”
“They were watching us,” I informed, “when
we went over to Miss Prindle’s to get the cats.
They know we’re here in the mill. After what
they did last night it may be well for us to be
on our guard.”
Scoop jumped to his feet and snapped his
lingers.
“Jinks ! That reminds me that I never told
you about my ghost scheme.”
“Ghost scheme?” we questioned in chorus.
“The idea came to me this morning,” said
Scoop, “but I forgot to mention it.”
Before he could proceed with an account of
his scheme the sound of creaking wagon wheels
came to us from in front of the mill and a gruff
voice called out, “Who-oa !” We stared at one
another, wondering who was planning to make
a call at that time of night. Then a lantern
flashed in the doorway and a man bounded into
the mill — the angriest man I ever set eyes on.
It was Mr. Hibbey, the proprietor of the Walkers
Lake dairy farm.
“Durn your measly hides,” he roared at us.
“I got a notion to take a horsewhip to you.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 89
“Wha-at’s the matter?” inquired Scoop, going
white.
The man shook his big fists at us.
“You know well enough what I be talkin’
’bout, you young pirates! Thought you’d be
perty slick, heh, droppin’ your pesky cats on my
farm? Thought I wouldn’t know ’bout it, heh?
Well, I’ll show you a trick or two, by gum! Jest
you trot out to my wagon an’ git your blamed
cats an’ make it snappy.”
Scoop gave a gasp and clutched my arm like
he had a bad case of wabbly knees.
“You — you haven’t brought the cats back?” he
fumbled.
“You’re durn tootin’ I brought ’em back.”
The cats were in a big box on the farmer’s
wagon. Discouraged and disgusted we lugged
them up the hill into the mill.
“I’m lettin’ you off easy this time,” growled
the farmer, as he untied his horse and climbed onto
the wagon seat. “But if you put any more cats
on my farm I’ll git the sheriff after you, an’
don’t you furgit it, nuther. I mean business, by
heck !”
When the cats were distributed in their boxest
Scoop sat down and wiped the sweat from his
face.
9o JERRY TODD AND
“Fellows,” said he in a hollow voice, “this is
awful ”
“Awful is right,” I put in.
Red gave a groan.
“And to think,” he reminded, “that a few
hours ago we were gay and happy in the thought
that we had kissed the old feline rest farm good-
bv.”
Peg was counting the cats. Suddenly he
straightened and turned to us with a queer look
on his face.
“Fellows,” he inquired, “how many cats did
we have this morning?”
“One hundred and fifty,” informed Scoop, “in¬
cluding Lady Victoria.”
Peg gave a scattered laugh.
“Well,” said he, “I don’t know where the
others came from, but we now have one hundred
and fifty-five.”
“It’s that blamed farmer,” screeched Scoop.
“He brought back cats that don’t belong here.”
“If this keeps up,” I put in, “we’ll soon have
a corner on all the cats in the county.”
“Yes,” Scoop agreed dismally, “and a corner
on all the troubles and worries.”
We ' rent dejectedly into the side room where
the cots were.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
9i
“What is that ghost scheme you were going to
tell us about?’* Peg reminded.
Red brightened.
“Yes, Scoop, hurry and put us wise,” he said,
“and we’ll work it on the cats and scare them
to death.”
“It was my scheme,” said Scoop, “for two of
us to dress up as ghosts and scare the Strickers.
We can use these sheets,” he added, indicating
the bed clothing on the cots.
“I’ll be a ghost,” offered Peg.
“And I’m the other one,” I put in quickly.
Peg was full of enthusiasm.
“We’ll fix up real spooky,” he said, “and if
those Zulutown bums come sneaking around here
to-night we’ll scare the liver out of them. It’ll
be fun,” he added, with sparkling eyes, “and help
to keep our minds off of our cat troubles.”
This kind of talk got us all excited. Like the
others I could think of nothing more pleasing
and satisfying than turning the tables on Bid
Strieker and his companions. And I was glad I
was going to be one of the ghosts.
“You two fellows can hide on the hillside,” j
planned Scoop, “and watch the door. If they
come, creep down the hill and head them
off.” He looked into Peg’s face and laughed.
92 JERRY TODD AND
“Can you give an honest-to-goodness graveyard
groan?” he inquired.
Peg’s grin put his mouth from ear to ear.
“Listen to this,” he bragged, and lifting his
chest he went: “O-r-r-r-r-r ! G-r-r-r-r-r !”
“Fine!” complimented Scoop. “If you do that
well when you come up behind them in the dark
you’ll scare them cold. Carry a club,” he added
grimly, “and aim for their shins.”
Our plans completed, Peg and I took the sheets
and started up the hill. It was necessary to pick
our way because the moon that had painted the
world with white light the previous night now
lay hidden behind a bank of clouds.
I don’t know how long we crouched in silence,
vague gray shadows against the black hillside. It
may have been thirty minutes. An hour maybe.
I have found that the minutes always drag when
one is keyed up and expectant. My legs got stiff
and the prolonged silence began to put an edge
on my nerves.
Peg yawned.
“Sleepy?” I whispered.
He told me he was.
“So’m I,” I returned.
“Must be close to midnight,” ,
“Easy.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 93
“Bet they won’t come. It was earlier than this
when they came last night.”
“If they don’t come pretty soon,” I said,
“we’ll - ”
Peg’s fingers closed convulsively on my wrist.
“What was that?” he cut in.
My heart was racing.
“Sounded like some one in front of the mill,”
I told him.
We lay perfectly still, straining our eyes and
ears. In the faint light of the hidden moon we
could trace the outline of the old mill. It seemed
fearfully big and angular and grim. I was
strangely reminded of a glowering, ill-natured
giant. I experienced an unexplainable feeling of
oppression, as though the giant were preparing
to put forth a tremendous foot and squash me as
I have seen ants squashed under people's feet on
concrete sidewalks.
Peg squeezed my hand.
“They’re coming, Jerry. Get your sheet
ready.”
I put the sheet over my head. It was like
being shut in a barrel.
“I can’t see a thing,” I complained.
There was a sound of tearing cloth.
“Poke a couple of holes through the sheet
94 JERRY TODD AND
for your eyes,” Peg suggested. “That’s what
I’ve done. I can see pretty good.”
Fixing eyeholes in my sheet, I followed him
down the hill. Each step was measured carefully
so as not to make an unnecessary sound. It
would upset our plans to have the Strickers hear
us coming.
I was directly behind Peg when we reached
the door of the mill. Glancing inside, I detected
a round splotch of moving light. I suspected it
was a flashlight in the hands of one of the Stric¬
kers.
Peg started forward with outstretched arms.
Against the faint light that penetrated the room
through the open door he looked fearfully spooky.
I told myself, with satisfaction, that the Strickers
were scheduled for the scare of their lives.
“O-r-r-r-r-r !” went Peg. This set the cats to
yowling. It was a fearful din.
There came a frightened cry. The flashlight
went out. Hearing some one near me I made a
wide swing with my club. It struck goal. There
was a terrified yell in the darkness. Then Scoop
'and Red tumbled into the room with the lantern.
“Head ’em off, fellows,” clamored Scoop. As
he darted across the room, lantern in hand, his
fast-moving legs made dancing shadows on the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 95
wooden walls. These shadows gave the room
the appearance of being full of hurtling people.
But when I tore off my sheet I found that we
had the room to ourselves. Whoever had
stopped the full swing of my club had escaped
through the doorway into the night.
“Where are they?” yelled Scoop, helping Peg
out of his sheet.
The latter had a dazed look on his face.
“It wasn’t the Strickers,” he said slowly.
Scoop stared.
“It was some one else,” Peg continued. “A
man. He had a flashlight. He seemed to be
looking for something.”
“Looking for something?” Scoop echoed dully.
Peg nodded.
“I think he was looking for something in the
cat boxes.” There was a brief silence as Peg let
his eyes meet ours in turn. “If it wasn’t such
a crazy idea,” he added, “I’d say the man was
looking for a certain cat.)f
I had wondered at the feeling of oppression
that gripped me on the hillside. It was then un¬
explainable. Now I understood. The queer
thought that the old mill was a formidable, de¬
structive giant was a premonition. That is a big
word, but I know what it means. And on the
9 6 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
instant I wondered uneasily if dangers as well
as strange adventures lay ahead of us.
Not for one minute was I in doubt regarding
the identity of the cat the man was seeking under
cover of darkness. Of all the cats sent to us
Lady Victoria was the only one possessing dis¬
tinction. The rose-colored cat, of course, was
dead and buried; but the mysterious prowler
didn’t know that.
My mind crowded full of conflicting, puzzled
thoughts, an involuntary cry dropped from my
lips when Scoop darted across the room and
pounced upon an object that lay just within the
open door. It was a man’s cap.
CHAPTER VII
WANTED: ONE HUNDRED CATS
The knowledge that a mysterious prowler
had positively entered the mill in the dead of
night to undoubtedly steal Mrs. Kepple’s rose-
colored cat filled us with nervous apprehension
and sent our minds into scattered speculation.
Who was he? What did he want of the cat?
And why did he come for it under cover of dark¬
ness ?
A prolonged conversation failed to bring
probable answers to these puzzling questions.
So we decided to let the mystery rest and get
some needed sleep. Before turning in, however,
we barred the door and latched the windows in
the thought that the prowler might possibly re¬
turn to continue his strange quest.
The sun was high in the sky and the world
without the mill lay tepid in the heat of a new
summer day when I awakened. Running into
the adjoining room I made sure that the door
97
'98 JERRY TODD AND
bars and window latches were undisturbed. Then
I got the other fellows out of bed.
Scoop squinted at his watch and yawned.
“Nine o’clock,’’ said he.
“Fat chance of ma cooking breakfast for me
at this time of day,” grumbled Red.
“We’ll get our own breakfast,” said Peg.
Crossing the room he squinted at the shelves con¬
taining the professor’s supply of food. “Here’s
bacon and eggs,” he told us, “and corn flakes.
If Mrs. Maloney will let us have some fresh
milk I guess we’ll be able to make out a satis¬
factory meal.”
Shortly after breakfast Mother and Mrs.
Meyers climbed the hill and entered the mill.
“We came to see if you were alive this morn¬
ing,” laughed Mother, smoothing down my hair.
“Yes,” puffed Mrs. Meyers, like she was out
of wind, “and we came to see the cats.”
“Well,” grinned Scoop, “they’re all in sight
and ready for inspection. Just help yourself,”
he motioned.
“Goodness gracious!” cried Mother. “What
a lot of cats.” She turned to where I was stand¬
ing. “I thought you told me you had gotten rid
of all but eleven.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
99
I explained about the farmer and the wagon
load of cats from the dairy farm.
“How lucky you are to get the cats back,” put
in Mrs. Meyers when I concluded.
“Lucky?” I repeated, wondering what did she
mean by such a careless use of the word. Not
for one instant did we consider ourselves lucky
in the return of the cats. To the exact contrary
we felt that we were a million times out of luck.
“When you can sell your cats for twenty-five
cents apiece,” Mrs. Meyers continued, “it would
be foolish to give them away.”
I thought, of course, that she was joking. It
could not be otherwise, because there was no
market for cats at a cent apiece let alone twenty-
five cents.
“Don’t be so sure of that,” laughed Mrs.
Meyers, and locating a newspaper clipping in
her handbag she read:
WANTED: ioo cats by Saturday night. I
will pay 25c. each. Phone 9044.
“If I were you,” advised Mother, on the instant
that Mrs. Meyers’ voice died away, “I would
get in touch with this cat buyer immediately.
100 JERRY TODD AND
Otherwise, some person with a supply of eats
may get in ahead of you.”
Scoop reached for the clipping and regarded
it with puzzled eyes. Presently he inquired:
“Was this in the Tutter newspaper?”
Mrs. Meyers nodded.
“Last night was the first I noticed it,” she in¬
formed.
“Maybe,” suggested Mother, “you can mark
down the price of your cats and get rid of them
in one lot.”
Scoop lifted his eyes from the clipping and
gave a queer laugh.
“I can’t make myself believe that any sane
person would advertise for cats and offer to pay
twenty-five cents apiece for them,” he declared.
“But it says so in the advertisement,” Mrs.
Meyers put in.
“I bet you,” Scoop added reflectively, “that
the ad is a fake. Yes, sir! Just like the letter
we got yesterday. Some smart geezer who
knows we have the cats is trying to put up a joke
on us. I don’t know what the joke is, but I
suspect that if we called up 9044 we’d get instruc¬
tions to deliver the cats at the Eureka Laundry
to be washed, or some such crazy thing. Huh!”
I knew that Scoop was right. Absolutely. To
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT ioi
take any other view would be ridiculous. As
he pointed out, no person with brains would ad¬
vertise for one hundred cats in good faith and
actually pay money for them. I told myself that
whoever paid for the advertisement had wasted
his money. We wouldn’t bite. Not so you can
notice it. After what had happened in connec¬
tion with the fake letter we were too foxy to be
taken in by the advertisement.
Mother and Mrs. Meyers commented on our
varied assortment of cats as they passed in front
of the boxes.
“Oh,” cried Red’s mother, “what a cunning
black cat.”
We told her it was the cat Professor Stoner
brought to Tutter in the covered basket.
“I always liked black cats,” continued Mrs.
Meyers, “because they are so easy to keep clean*
Usually, though, a black cat has some disfiguring
spots. This cat seems to be coal black.”
“All except its tongue,” joked Scoop, “and
that’s pink.”
I spoke up and told Mrs. Meyers she could
have the black cat if she wanted it.
“Gosh, yes,” put in Scoop, “and you can have
a dozen more if you say the word.”
She thanked us dryly and stated that one cat
102 JERRY TODD AND
was an ample sufficiency. Stooping, she raised
the slats and took the black cat from its box.
“I hope you boys learn that the advertisement
was inserted in the Globe in good faith,” said
Mother, as she and her companion were leaving.
We politely said we hoped so, too, and thanked^
both of them for their trouble in coming to the
mill to tell us about the cat buyer. Down in our
hearts, though, we had not a particle of doubt
that the advertisement was a fake. As Scoop
told us, it was a good thing to keep away from.
That noon when Red came back from dinner
he was so full of giggles he could hardly talk
straight.
“What do you know,” he cried, “if the Stac¬
kers aren’t fine-combing the town for stray cats.”
Peg gave the newcomer a suspicious scowl and
asked what the joke was.
“The joke is on the Strickers,” gurgled Red
as he came up for air. “They saw the advertise¬
ment in the newspaper and it’s their bright idea
to clean up a lot of jack selling cats.”
Scoop let out a yip.
“Ain’t they the poor boobs,” he laughed, “to
fall for that fake ad? I tell you what, fellows:
let’s make it our business to be on hand when
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 103
they deliver the cats, so we can give them the
horselaugh.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Peg, his black eyes
snapping.
It was important in the working of Scoop^s
plan for one of us to keep an eye on the Stac¬
kers, so Red disappeared in the direction of
town. At four-thirty he came back on the run.
“Quick, fellows! They’ve started out with
their cats.”
Hurriedly locking the mill door, we beat it
down the hill and followed on Red’s flying heels
until we overtook the Strickers in Grove Street.
“They’re heading for the Treebury pike,” he
explained.
A surprised look crept into Peg’s broad face.
“Is the cat buyer located in the country?” he
inquired.
“It’s some one living in the big brick house
near the Morgan crossroads. Tommy Hegan
told me. He overheard Bid Strieker telephon¬
ing.”
Scoop gave another contented laugh.
“Yes,” he put in, “Bid thinks the cat buper
lives there. Like as not, though, the owner of
the brick house knows nothing about the cat ad-
io4 JERRY TODD AND
vertisement.” There was a brief silence. “Yes,
sir,” Scoop continued, “I’d be willing to bet my
Sunday shirt against a last-year’s bird nest that
the Strickers are due for a shock when they
parade up the front steps of the house to deliver
their cats. Huh! I hope they get doused with
water.”
“Or get whacked with a broom,” supplemented
Red, recalling his humiliation on Miss Prindle’s
front porch.
“We’ll keep well behind,” planned Peg, “so
they won’t see us or suspect they are being fol¬
lowed. Then when the door is slammed in their
faces we’ll give them the hee-haw. Good and
plenty. They’ll think we put up the joke on
them.”
“And when they lug the cats back to town,”
giggled Red, “we can hoot at them from behind:
‘Pkase sell us some of your cats,’ like they hooted
at us last night.”
The gang ahead of us consisted of five boys.
Bid Strieker pulled a coaster wagon containing a
big crate. Just how many cats were shut in the
crate we could only imagine. Jimmy Strieker
steadied the crate on one side and another mem¬
ber of the gang did the same on the opposite
side. In this way they passed out of town on
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 105
the Treebury pike, covering a stretch of possibly
two miles before they came to the old brick house
that is considered something of a landmark in
our section.
Concealed in the shrubbery, we watched them(
pass up the front porch steps. And as Bid Stric-'
ker cranked the old-fashioned door-bell I tingled
happily in the thought that he was sort of walk¬
ing into the spider’s parlor, only he didn’t suspect
it. There he stood all chesty and confident on
one side of the closed door, and on the inner side
Trouble was exercising its muscles. Very soon
he’d catch it. I was glad.
Presently a young man came to the door.
There was some low-voiced conversation; then,
to our amazement, the young man came onto the
lawn and interestedly inspected the cats through
the slats of the crate.
Well, I don’t like to write down what followed.
A fellow with pride in his system hates to admit
defeat at the hands of the enemy. And, as Scoop
said later, defeat, as a word, only mildly describes
what we got handed to us. You’ll understand
what I mean when I tell you that the man actually
paid the Strickers money for their cats. We could
see the silver pieces shine in his hands as he
extended the money to Bid. And we could see
10 6 JERRY TODD AND
the silver sparkle in Bid’s hands as he counted
the pieces to make sure he was getting all that
was due him.
^^fcight then and there we went sick and dis¬
gusted. Crowding up in our minds was the hu¬
miliating realization that the Strickers had got¬
ten in ahead of us in supplying the buyer with
cats we could have easily supplied had we been
less quick to brag to one another how smart we
were to detect the joker in the advertisement.
Mother and Mrs. Meyers had expressed their
opinion that the advertisement was sincere. We
had paid no attention to what they said. We
thought we knew more than they did. Now it
was plain to us that they were wholly right. It
was an unhappy situation for us.
There wasn’t much talk between us as we slunk
into town in the wake of the jubilant Strieker
gang. Our usual pep and self-confidence had
deserted us. Ahead, the Strickers were singing
and whistling. What filled them with happiness
was the thought of all the ice cream sodas and
chocolate bars their money would buy. It was
our money, I told myself. And I hated Bid Strict
ker worse than ever for cheating us out of it*
As a matter of fact, there was no actual cheating,
and the Strickers were entitled to the money.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 107
But I was angry enough to take the other view.
You know now it is with a boy sometimes.
The tower clock on College Hill struck six
times as we came dejectedly into town.
“I guess,” Scoop said quietly, “we’ll keep
to ourselves.”
“I guess you said a mouthful,” Peg agreed dis¬
mally.
“They didn’t have more than twenty cats,”
continued Scoop. “The man wants one hundred.
Bright and early to-morrow morning we’ll do
some cat selling. Um - Eighty cats at a
quarter apiece will bring us twenty dollars.”
Red brightened.
“No need to be downhearted,” said he, “with
all that money chasing after us.”
“Yes,” agreed Scoop, “our luck might be
worse.” Scowling, he continued: “It galls me,
though, to think that we were asleep at the switch
and let the Strickers get in ahead of us.”
“They don’t know we trailed them into the
country to give them the horselaugh,” Red re¬
minded quickly.
“That,” returned Scoop, “is the only comfort
ing thought.”
Peg had a reflective expression on his face.
“I can’t for the life of me figure out what a
& *F
io8 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
man wants with one hundred cats. For my part
I’d as soon have one hundred toothaches wished
onto me.”
“Or one hundred baths,” I put in.
“It’s unusual,” agreed Scoop, nodding his head.
His thoughts carried him away and we walked
several paces in silence. “Urn - I wonder is
there any connection between this sudden demand
for cats and the prowler’s visit to the mill last
night.” Pausing, he searched our eyes. “May¬
be, fellows,” he added, a queer note in his voice,
“this cat buyer and the man who got whanged
with Jerry’s club are one and the same person.”
We couldn’t say with any certainty did
Scoop have the right dope or not. He’s an easy
jumper when it comes to forming conclusions.
Lots of times in his jumping he gets himself
tangled up. But what he said about the cat buyer
gave us something to think about, to say the
least.
CHAPTER VIII
OUR BARREL TRAP
Dusk settled low upon the land as we sat in
the doorway of the old mill and planned how we
would deliver our cats into the buyer’s hands
early the following morning. If we could manage
to crowd all the cats into one load so much the
better. There was a chance that the buyer
would accept the lot. In that event we would
be in luck. We joyously pictured the envy in
Bid Strieker’s homely face upon learning the story
of our good fortune. He was welcome to his
little old five dollars. Huh! We were going
to earn twenty dollars. This happy thought took
the keen edge from our dejection and humiliation.
“If the cat buyer wants only eighty cats,” said
Scoop, “we’ll fill the order and then drive deeper
into the country and drop the remaining cats
here and there along the Treebury pike.”
Peg laughed.
“ ‘Here and there’ is the right way to do it,”
he agreed, recalling, I guess, the unfortunate re-
* 109
no JERRY TODD AND
suits that attended our first attempt to get rid
of the cats wholesale.
Scoop readily understood what the other
meant.
“Yes,” he nodded, “if it becomes necessary to
drop the cats along the turnpike we’ll spread
them out and not release them in bunches like
we did over by the dairy farm.”
The mysterious cat buyer was a target for a
good bit of our speculative conversation. Was
he indeed the prowler who had stopped the full
swing of my club the previous night when Peg
and 1 played ghost? And was he in the mill in
quest of the yellow cat? To put answers onto
these questions would likely clear up the mystery,
and that, of course, is what we were anxious to
do. But would we be able to pump the stranger
as Scoop anticipated? The cat buyer was a man;
we were boys. It didn’t seem possible to me
that he would fall into any of our traps. Still
I was hopeful.
Peg thoughtfully advanced the theory that the
prowler might be an agent of Mrs. Kepple’s.
“I read in a story one time,” he explained,
“how a woman had her pet dog insured against
theft, then hid it and tried to collect the insurance
money. That may be Mrs. Kepple’s game.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT hi
Listening with eager ears, I instantly thrilled
under the thought that Peg’s theory supplied a
reason for the unusual cat advertisement. In¬
structed to steal the cat, the prowler had made
the discovery that the cat wasn’t in the mill. His
next step was to run the advertisement in the
newspaper under the hope that in rounding up
all the stray cats in Tutter the desired cat would
be delivered into his hands. This accomplished,
Mrs. Kepple could safely file her five-hundred-
dollar claim with the insurance company.
In tumbling, excited words I spilled my
thoughts to the others. Scoop, though, couldn’t
see it my way.
“You entirely overlook the fact,” said he,
“that the cat advertisement was placed in the
newspaper before the prowler visited the mill.”
He was right. My excitement subsided and
I shut up.
The moon lifted its round white face into the
sky as though to assure us of its friendship and
support. A powerful electric searchlight could
have given us no more complete protection.
Nevertheless we safeguarded the cat farm against
possible invasion, which task completed, we
dropped onto our cots, sleeping the night through
without disturbance. Awakening at the call of
1 12 JERRY TODD AND
the first factory whistle, we divided the work of
preparing breakfast and crating the cats; then
set forth happily, mindful of Mr. Ellery’s injunc¬
tion that the borrowed delivery wagon must be
returned to the store within an hour.
Our early-morning ridjs into} the country
touched up my pep and made me gladder than
ever that I was alive. It was a magic world,
sort of. The leaves tenanting the trees seemed
washed and refreshed under the disappearing
dew. Once we dipped into a hollow and a tang
crept toward us from out of the low lands, put¬
ting imaginative pictures of colorful growing
things into my mind. Not infrequently in such
contented moments I have the industrious feel¬
ing that I want to be a farmer when I grow up.
Running a farm is hard work; but there comes
a fine contentment, I bet, from living close to
fields and forests. Dad jokes about educating
me to be a minister. He says I can do the preach¬
ing and he’ll take up the collection and we’ll split
fifty-fifty. That is his nonsense, of course. When
I do get to be a man as big and tall as he is, with
number eight shoes and a safety razor of my own,
he’ll likely forget about the minister business
and let me be a farmer if I want to be one.
The clattering delivery wagon built a wall
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 113
about my thoughts and I gave critical attention
as a future-day farmer to the adjacent fields of
growing corn. There was one poor field. I told
myself stoutly that there would be no crooked
corn rows in my farm; nor would there be weedy
patches. No, sir-e ! Then we came to a sloping
meadow spread upon the sunny hillside like a
huge blanket, all green and soft and velvety, and
I turned my attention to the grazing cattle, draw¬
ing a mental comparison between these cows and
the cows that were to be a part of my farm.
Pretty soon in imagination I got to be a big
land owner and all the farms paralleling the
turnpike were my farms and all the cattle were
my cattle and I scowled back at the weedy corn¬
field, saying to myself that the hired man who
had charge of that particular field would hear
from me, all right, all right. I even had it
figured out in my mind what I would hand the
lazy bum, then Red gagged up a bug or some¬
thing, and thus jerked out of my dream world
I was made to realize that I was a boy in knee
pants with a big patch on the seat and the only
farm I owned was a quarter interest in a cat
farm, which was nothing to brag about.
Pretty soon we came within sight of the brick
house and Scoop pulled on the reins, slowing
H4 JERRY TODD AND
the trotting horse into a jerky walk. A tree-
hung lane gave entrance to the barnyard in the
rear. Turning into this lane, we made use of
the farmer’s hitching post to secure our horse,
then unloaded the big cat crate onto the lawn in
front of the house.
No one came to inquire our business, so Scoop
went onto the front porch and twisted the tail
of the door-bell. Footsteps sounded from with¬
in. Then the doorknob turned and a large wo¬
man stood framed in the opening.
“Good morning,” was her polite greeting, as
she regarded us inquiringly.
“Good morning,” returned Scoop. Remember¬
ing his manners he slid from under his cap. “I
believe,” he proceeded in a snappy, businesslike
way, “that this is the place where we sell our
cats.”
At this the woman’s) face clouded and one
hand moved nervously to her cheek.
“You are mistaken,” she returned quietly yet
firmly. “This is the one place where you do not
sell your cats — if I know anything about it!”
Well, to have her come back at Scoop that
way was a knockout, sort of. The amazement
that gripped us was reflected in our staring eyes.
Was it her intention to step in between us and
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT nj
the cat buyer and cheat us out of the chance of
selling our cats? It would seem so.
But Scoop had his wits about him.
“A young man,” said he, “who lives in this
house put an advertisement in the Tutter news¬
paper for cats. We would like to show him our
unusual assortment of cats. I dare say he never
set eyes on a finer collection. We even have a
few choice rose-colored specimens.”
The friendly grin on the speaker’s face brought
an answering smile from the woman. But when
he asked her to call the cat buyer to the door
to inspect our cats she stiffened.
“You can take your cats away from here and
keep them away,” she returned shortly. “We
don’t want them. Our farm is overrun with cats
as it is. Humph! It may be some one’s idea
of humor to clutter up our buildings with cats,
but / don’t regard it as a joke.”
Right away all the joy and contentment that
had filled my mind on the way from town went
kerplunk ! into a bottomless pit, as they tell about
in church. Could it be possible that despite all
precaution we had tumbled headlong into some
joker’s trap? I shot a troubled glance at the cat
crate. And I groaned in the thought of further
chaperoning that bunch of yodelers. Cats ! cats !
ii 6 JERRY TODD AND
cats! Was there nothing in the world but cats?
I wanted to grow wings and fly away to some
distant planet where the nearest thing they had
to a cat was a petrified cat-tail marsh.
Scoop is a persistent talker. Maybe he had a
sickening chill like I had, but if so he didn’t let
it freeze his gab. That is fortunate, because his
questions kept the woman’s tongue in action and
brought out the fact that the young man who had
paid the Strickers real money for their cats was
a boarder at the farmhouse.
“He rode his bicycle into the yard about a
week ago,’’ the woman informed us. “Seemed
like a nice young man, so I agreed to board him
for a short time. It was a mistake, however.
Yesterday my suspicions were aroused. I told
myself that no man in his right mind would buy
eighteen cats. Then the telegram came and he
rode away, leaving the cats shut in the granary.”
Here was a new phase of the mystery. I didn’t
wonder at the dazed look that flitted across
Scoop’s face.
“You say the man got a telegram?” he
fumbled.
The woman nodded.
“It was telephoned to him from town. When
I went up to his room ten minutes later I found
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 117
on the dresser the money he owed me and a note
saying he wouldn’t return.”
As though to dismiss us, she stepped back and
took hold of the doorknob.
“Just a minute,” cried Scoop, lifting a detain¬
ing hand. “You see,” he tumbled on, “there is
a mystery about your boarder and we need your
help to solve it.”
The woman looked bewildered.
“A mystery?” she repeated.
Scoop quickly recited our adventures to date.
“You can see,” he concluded, “how we came
to connect up the cat buyer with the prowler
who entered our cat farm. We were hopeful
that in meeting him here we would be able to
pick up bits of information that would help in
solving the mystery.”
“Land of Goshen!” cried the woman. “He
might have murdered us in our beds.”
Scoop grinned.
“I don’t think he aims to murder anybody.
What he wants is the rose-colored cat.”
The woman’s bewilderment deepened.
“But it seems ridiculous that a man should go
to such trouble to get possession of a cat.”
i “Lady Victoria,” informed Scoop, “is no ordi¬
nary cat. We realized that from the first. Even
1 1 8 JERRY TODD AND
before she arrived in Tutter we scented a mys¬
tery. Didn’t we, fellows?”
“Sure thing,” put in Red. “And when we saw
the cat we told each other Mrs. Kepple had a
reason for calling it rose-colored.”
“Then,” went on Scoop, “the prowler came
searching for the cat in the darkness to further
confirm our suspicions that Lady Victoria was
a mystery cat. That was night before last.”
Here the woman gave a gasp.
“I do believe you’re right in connecting up the
cat buyer with the prowler who disturbed you.
Yes! You say it was Thursday night?”
“Between eleven and twelve o’clock,” Scoop
nodded.
“On Thursday night,” said the woman in a
steady voice, “the cat buyer left here shortly
after supper and never returned till midnight.”
To thus learn that the prowler was positively
the cat buyer gave me a queer nervous thrill.
Then my mind went confused under the mys¬
tery’s befuddling and conflicting angles. Old
questions confronted me. Who was he? What
were his motives? I reached for the answers
but fell short.
Scoop, though, shared none of my bewilder¬
ment. A reflective look clung to his face that
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 119
told me as plain as words that his thoughts were
being put one on top of another in orderly se¬
quence. Presently he turned to the woman and
inquired :
“When the man left your house Thursday
evening, did he have on a gray cloth cap?”
“Now let me think. Ye-es, he did.”
Scoop’s eyes snapped.
“And when he rode away last evening, did he
have on the same gray cap?”
“No-o. He wore a black hat.”
“I suspected as much,” Scoop said quickly.
Then he gave a scattered laugh. “I bet I can
tell you the size hat your husband wears.”
The woman stared as though she suspected
her ears of deceiving her. It was a crazy thing
for Scoop to say. I wondered what was he get¬
ting at.
“The size,” grinned Scoop, “is seven and a
quarter.”
“How did you know?”
“Because that is the size of the cap the cat
buyer left behind when he paid us a visit night
before last.”
Now I tumbled to what Scoop was driving at.
It was his belief that the capless cat buyer had
snitched the farmer’s hat rather than ride away
120 JERRY TODD AND
from the farmhouse bareheaded. I told myself
it was pretty smart of Scoop to figure it out.
“I can’t believe it,” cried the woman, when the
situation was explained to her.
“You can easy enough prove it,” returned
Scoop, “by looking on the hook where your hus¬
band hangs his hat. But that can wait,” he added
hastily, as she made a move to enter the house.
“Um - the telegram is more important. Sup¬
pose you tell us about it.”
“Well, I answered the ’phone, recognizing
Carrie Mulliguy’s voice. ‘This is Western Un¬
ion,' says she. ‘Have you a cat buyer staying
at your place?’ ‘Maybe you mean Mr. Barnes,’
says I. ‘He put an advertisement in the Globe
for cats.’ ‘Yes,’ says Carrie, ‘Mr. Barnes is the
party I want. Call him to the ’phone, please, as
I have a telegram for him.’ ”
“She didn’t tell you where the telegram was
from?” queried Scoop.
“No.”
“When the man got the message, did he act
worried or happy or what?”
“Worried, I should say.”
“Then,” said Scoop, “it was bad news.” He
drew a long breath. “Um - I’d like to know
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 12 1
what was in that telegram. I suspect it came
from Chicago.”
“From Mrs. Kepple?” I put in.
He nodded.
“Maybe,” he said reflectively, “we can find
out from Miss Mulliguy.”
The farmer’s wife leaned forward, an eager
light in her eyes.
“If you find out - ” she began.
“Yes,” grinned Scoop, “if we find out we’ll
let you know.” Here he glanced at his watch.
“Crickets!” he exploded. “We’ve got to shake
a leg and get back to the store.”
Red scowled.
“But you said we were going to drive into the
country and drop the cats along the turnpike,”
was his reminder.
“Not this trip,” Scoop returned shortly. “We
haven’t time.”
“And do we have to lug that crate of yowlers
back to the old mill?”
Scoop grinned.
“Let’s not worry about the cats,” said he, slap¬
ping Red on the back “We can get rid of them
later on. Just now I want to follow up the tele¬
gram clew. That is important. The message
122 JERRY TODD AND
probably connects up with the rose-colored cat in
some way or another.”
“Gee!” said Red, shedding his gloom in the
thought of possible adventures.
As we turned to leave, the woman touched
Scoop on the arm.
“Maybe you would like some more cats - ”
“Hardly,” Scoop declined before she could
finish.
“But how in the world am I going to get rid
of the cats in the granary?”
“You might put up a sign near the turnpike,”
laughed Scoop, “offering the cats as premiums.
For instance: ‘Fresh eggs, only thirty cents a
dozen. Each customer given a beautiful full-
grown cat absolutely free.’ ”
He meant it as a joke, of course. But the
woman took him seriously. That to us was the
funny part.
Loading the cat crate into the delivery wagon,
we drove out of the lane lickety-cut, heading the
horse toward town. It was a jolty ride. Our
excited conversation was punctuated more or less
by resentful yowls from the jostled cats. We
gave little thought, however, to their probable
discomfort. The telegram was the big thing in
our minds.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 12 3
Upon meeting the Strieker gang in Grove Street
we temporarily lost the keen edge of our enthusi¬
asm. It was not pleasant to face them with the
knowledge that we had failed where they had suc¬
ceeded.
“Lookit the cat farmers!” jeered Rid. “What
do you know,” he added, “if they hain’t bin takin’
their cats out tourin’ in a delivery wagon.”
“So kind of them,” yipped Jimmy Strieker, “to
give their cats an early morning ride.”
“I see the rose-colored cat on the front seat,”
whooped Bid. “It’s got a red head and freckles.”
Then the whole gang made a pretense of being
cats and hissed at us. It was very disgusting.
“Some day,” growled Red, as we clattered past
the smart alecks and beyond their hearing, “I’m
going to push Bid Strieker’s face down his throat
and let it strangle him to death.”
Peg grimaced.
“I’m glad they don’t know where we’ve been.”
“You and me both,” I put in feelingly.
Scoop went thoughtful.
“I’ve been wondering more or less,” said he,
“if the man would have bought our cats had we
delivered them to him yesterday afternoon.”
“Probably,” surmised Peg without enthusiasm.
“He bought the Strickers’ cats.”
;i24 JERRY TODD AND
Scoop went deeper into his reflections.
“It’s a queer mess,” he proceeded. “I can’t
understand it. Evidently the man got instructions
in the telegram to buy no more cats. But why
should he beat it without saying anything of his
intentions to the farmer’s wife?”
Peg gave a gurgle like he frequently does when
he gets braced to recite his excited thoughts.
“Do you suppose,” said he, “it’s leaked out
about the rose-colored cat being dead?”
“I never told anybody,” came quickly from
Red.
“Nor me,” said Scoop and I in the same breath.
“If I had been sent to Tutter to get the rose-
colored cat,” continued Peg, putting himself imag¬
inatively into the cat buyer’s shoes, “and I got a
telegram saying the cat was dead, what would I
do?”
“Dig out,” Scoop supplied shortly.
“Exactly,” said Peg, complacently nodding his
head.
“But no outsider knows the cat is dead,” came
from Red. “How could any one telegraph what
they don’t know?”
Peg’s only reply to this was a shrug of his
broad shoulders.
We made short work of dumping the cat crate
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 125
into the old mill, then headed for the grocery
store, hopeful that Mr. Ellery would overlook
the fact that we were ten minutes late.
He came from the back door onto the loading
platform as we drove up.
“Get rid of your cats?” he grinned in a friendly
way.
“Not yet,” Scoop returned shortly.
“No? I thought you had a buyer?”
“We got fooled,” said Scoop.
Mr. Ellery’s laugh put an up-and-down motion
into his over-sized stomach.
“I guess,” he chuckled, “you’ll have to keep
your cats and start a fur farm. I understand
there’s a profitable market for cat skins the right
time of the year. And it ain’t no expense raising
the cats, because you have a rat farm next door
to the cat farm, and you feed the multiplying
rats to the cats, then skin the cats and feed the
insides to the rats.”
“Let’s go into partnership,” grinned Peg.
“We’ll furnish the cats and you can catch the
rats.”
“Um - ” evaded Mr. Ellery, letting his fore¬
head go puckered in a comical way. “Reckon I
better go answer the ’phone; I hear it ringing.”
We waited on the platform while Scoop got
126 JERRY TODD AND
some gumdrops, then the four of us headed for
the telegraph office. Miss Mulliguy smiled as
Scoop stepped up to the counter to carry on the
conversation.
“We’re trying to locate a cat buyer named
Barnes,” he began. “The man,” he explained,
“who got a telegram from Chicago yesterday
afternoon.”
“You mean Springfield, not Chicago,” cor¬
rected Miss Mulliguy.
“Mr. Barnes has disappeared,” continued
Scoop. “It is important that we locate him, be¬
cause his firm buys cats and we’ve got cats to sell.
Do you think we can secure his address by get¬
ting in touch with the party who sent him the
telegram?”
“That is doubtful,” said Miss Mulliguy. “As
I recall the telegram was received under the news¬
paper key.”
Scoop looked puzzled.
“I mean,” Miss Mulliguy explained patiently,
“that Mr. Barnes’ name didn’t appear in the tele¬
gram. It was addressed to the Tutter Cat Buyer,
’phone 9044.”
“And it is your belief,” followed up Scoop,
“that whoever sent the telegram didn’t know Mr.
Barnes’ name?”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 127
“I’m quite sure that is the case, having in mind
the nature of the message.”
Scoop leaned eagerly across the counter.
“I suppose you can tell us from memory what
was in the telegram.”
Miss Mulliguy gave him a suspicious glance
and stiffened.
“I can,” she returned coldly, “but I don’t intend
to. Western Union operators are not permitted
to divulge the contents of telegrams passing
through their hands. It is a company ruling.”
There was some more talk, but Scoop couldn’t
budge her. It was disappointing. I guess we
said some mean things about the telegraph com¬
pany as we kicked our way to the old mill.
“It surprised me,” said Scoop, “when she said
the telegram came from Springfield. That’s the
state capital.”
Red grinned.
“Maybe,” he suggested, “it’s a message from
the governor.”
“Huh!” snorted Scoop, giving the joker a con¬
temptuous up-and-down look.
“It surely can’t be Mrs. Kepple,” came thought¬
fully from Peg.
Scoop shook his head.
“By every right in the world,” he reflected,
128 JERRY TODD AND
“the telegram should have come from Chicago.
That’s where the yellow cat came from; and if
thieves, for some unknown reason, are trying to
get the cat away from us, you’d naturally conclude
they were Chicago men. Otherwise how would
they know about the cat?”
“Do you suppose,” said Peg out of his thoughts,
“that the telegram is a blind?”
We stared.
“Maybe,” he continued in steady tones, “it’s a
scheme to throw us off our guard. Then, when
we least expect it, the prowler’ll descend upon the
mill in further quest of the cat.”
Scoop’s forehead went puckered.
“I don’t know - ” he began uncertainly.
“It would be my idea,” went on Peg, “to sort
of pretend we're asleep at the switch. That’ll
fool the prowler and give us the advantage. We
can even leave the mill door wide open when
night comes. Instead of snoozing, however, we’ll
be on the job with four stout clubs. And when
the prowler does come - ”
“We can rush up on him,” I cut in excitedly,
“and knock him out.”
Peg nodded grimly.
“What if he has a gun?” reminded Scoop.
Here Red gave a yip.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 129
“I know what we can do/’ he cried, his eyes
sparkling. “We’ll set a trap for him and catch
him in a barrel. Then he won’t have a chance to
draw a gun on us.”
Well, when we were made to understand what
Red was driving at we told each other it was a
pretty slick scheme. And we had a good laugh
among ourselves as we pictured the unsuspecting
prowler hooked in our barrel like a fish trapped
in a fyke net. Red is handy at rigging up me¬
chanical things. He understands electricity, too.
We knew he could make his scheme work.
Tumbling into the mill, we took a comprehen¬
sive survey of the overhead beams, deciding on
the best place to suspend the barrel. It was our
theory that the prowler upon entering the mill
would pass quickly before the row of cat boxes,
flashing his light through the slats. Naturally he
would make longer pauses before the boxes con¬
taining yellow cats so as not to overlook Lady Vic¬
toria. It was our decision, therefore, to put a
bright yellow cat in one of the central boxes and
fix up the barrel trap at that particular spot. We
would use for the trap a big sugar barrel with
one end knocked out. This could be suspended
by a rope and pulley and the loose end of the rope
brought into the side room where we slept.
130 JERRY TODD AND
Then when we got the signal that the prowler
was standing on Red’s electric floor switch we
could release the rope and down would come the
barrel.
“We’ll drive some shingle nails through the
sides of the barrel,” grinned Red, “with the ends
pointing up. That will let the barrel slide down
over the prowler’s head and body; but if he tries
to lift up on the barrel the nails’ll hook into
his clothes.”
We put in a busy morning. First we took the
cats from the crate and shut them in the boxes.
Then Scoop and Peg rolled the required barrel
from the store to the mill. I helped them get
the barrel properly suspended, open end down.
Under trial it worked as slick as a button, only
once the rope came untied and poor Peg pretty
nearly got his brains knocked out. While the
three of us were rigging up the barrel, Red
skidded here and there with a coil of wire on his
arm and a pair of wire nippers in his hands.
The floor switch he contrived was principally
a copper strip nailed fast at one end. Under
foot pressure it was made to form a contact
with another copper piece, closing the dry bat¬
tery circuit on a tiny electric light in the side
room.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 131
“When the light goes on,” explained Red,
“we’ll know the prowler is standing directly un¬
der the barrel. Then, bingo ! we let go of the
rope.”
“But suppose,” Peg put in thoughtfully, “that
something gets out of kilter with your contrivance
and the trap doesn’t work when it should.”
“No danger of that,” Red returned confi¬
dently.
“How would it be,” persisted Peg, “if we
played safe by fixing another trap at the door¬
way? It’s a cinch we don’t want the prowler
to escape us.”
“Aw, shucks!” growled Red.
Peg laughed.
“How long does it take to wash off ink?” was
his queer question.
“You mean school ink?” I inquired.
He nodded.
“It doesn’t wash off; it has to wear off,” I
told him. I ought to know! If there’s a school
kid in Tutter who gets more ink daubed on him
than I do I don’t know who he is.
“Exactly,” said Peg. “And if we gave the
prowler an ink bath, would we recognize him
if we met him in the street, or wouldn’t we?”
“What do you mean?” Scoop demanded.
;i32 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
Peg took us to the doorway and explained how
easy it would be to balance a bucket of ink water
just above the top casing.
“We can fix a string,” said he, “so that any¬
body running into it will upset the bucket.
Down will come the ink and Mr. Prowler’ll get
a free bath.”
“But he’ll bump into the string coming into
the mill,” was Scoop’s objection.
“The string will then be on the floor and
he’ll step over it,” explained Peg. “I haven’t
got it figured out, but I bet you we can fasten
the string to the barrel rope so that when the
barrel is released, my string will tighten knee
high.”
“Hot dog!” said Red. “Just leave it to me.”
“We’ll need plenty of ink,” concluded Peg.
“Everybody bring a bottle this noon. If you
can bring a couple of bottles, hop to it.”
“Golly Ned!” I put in. “This is fun.”
Yes, that is what I said. And I gave an easy,
contented laugh. Like the other fellows, I felt
pretty sure of myself. Had I known what was
going to happen I would have been as hilarious
as a clam with the toothache.
CHAPTER IX
THE FIRE IN THE BRICKYARD
Ordinarily we get together on Saturday
evening and head for down town. It is fun to
be a part of the street crowd. But to-night we
agreed to stick close to the old mill. As Scoop
said, there was likely to be some exciting de«
velopments.
It came eight o’clock; then eight-thirty. Peg
pointed to the clouds obscuring the moon.
“Not a star even,” said he.
“All the better for our purpose,” returned
Scoop with satisfaction, meaning, of course, that
the prowler would be more likely to pay us a
visit if it were dark instead of moonlight. I
told myself that if the man did come he was
a gone goose. He couldn’t possibly escape both
of our traps. In case the barrel trap failed in its
purpose the ink brand would promptly lead to
his detection.
As usual Red went uneasy with the fading of
daylight and began fidgeting.
133
134
JERRY TODD AND
“Do you suppose,” said he, squinting into the
outside darkness, “that hidden eyes are watch-
ing us r
“Probably,” Peg returned easily.
“Let’s go to bed,” suggested Scoop in a loud
voice. Getting to his feet he stretched his arms
and legs, whispering the while: “Don’t talk of
being watched, you poor boobs ! Act uncon¬
cerned.” He added in loud tones: “Guess we’ll
leave the door open to-night. Pretty hot
in here.”
“Sure thing we’ll leave the door open,” spoke
up Peg. “We don’t want to roast.”
Then we went to bed — in pretense. With the
lantern’s flame turned high so that any one with¬
out the mill could easily see us through the open
window, we sat on the cots and unlaced our
shoes, dropping them heavily to the floor. Next
we skinned out of our shirts and pants.
“You fellows get into bed,” said Peg, “and
I’ll blow out the lantern. Ready? Here she
goes.”
There was an interval of silence as our eyes
sought to pierce the room’s sudden darkness.
Then Scoop whispered:
“Easy now, fellows. Get into your clothes,
only don’t make a sound.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 135
It was no small job dressing in the dark.
First I got my pants on hind side to; then the
sleeves of my shirt went twisted. When I
reached for my shoes all I could find was the
one fitting the left foot.
Here Red gave a tantalizing giggle and whis¬
pered:
“Hi diddle diddle, my son John,
He went to bed with his trousers on,
One shoe off and the other shoe on,
Hi diddle diddle, my son John.”
I growled at Red to shut up and impatiently
continued my search on the rough floor for the
missing shoe. All I got for my pains was a
sliver in my finger. Disgusted, I gave up the
search. And with one shoeless foot I joined
the others on Scoop’s cot.
There was very little whispering now. We
sat there for the most part like stone statues,
our eyes staring into the blackness to where the
invisible electric lamp was mounted on the wooden
wall. Red had hold of the barrel rope, ready
to give it a quick unhooking jerk in case the light
flashed. The cats in the adjoining room having
quieted down for the night* the silence within
;i36 JERRY TODD AND
the mill seemed suddenly deep and deadly. Like
a tomb.
The minutes dragged along. Ten minutes;
a hundred minutes ; a million minutes. At least it
seemed to me that a million minutes were born
and lived and expired in the space of time that we
sat there. I began to share Red’s uneasiness.
The crowding darkness; the brooding silence;
the constant expectation that the light would
momentarily flash put a jumpishness into my
muscles, sort of.
Peg got up and tiptoed to the window. I was
glad. Even to have him move silently across
the room helped to break the unnerving monotony
of the situation.
“Well?” Scoop whispered, when Peg returned.
“Couldn’t see or hear a thing,” the other re¬
plied in a low breath.
The springs beneath Red creaked and by a
sharp jab of my elbow I signaled to him to quit
his fidgeting.
“Must be getting pretty late,” he spoke up in
a hollow voice.
“A quarter after ten,” informed Scoop, look¬
ing at his watch’s illuminated dial.
There was a brief silence.
“I’ve a good notion,” said Peg out of his
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 137
thoughts, “to slip outside and make a circle of
the mill. I can find out easy enough if the
prowler is near.”
“Yes; and he’d spot you in the time that you
were spotting him,” was Scoop’s prompt objec¬
tion.
“I don’t think so,” Peg returned confidently.
“I bet he’s watching the door at close range,”
persisted Scoop.
“So much the better for my purpose,” Peg
said quickly. “I can go safely through the win¬
dow.”
“But it’s a drop of ten feet!”
“I’ll use a rope. There’s one under my cot.”
When Peg gets an idea fixed in his head you
can’t budge him. So Scoop shut up.
Again the minutes straggled in endless proces¬
sion in the time that it took Peg to get his rope
fixed for a safe descent from the window. We
could see nothing of him as he moved stealthily
in the darkness, but from the slight sounds he
made I figured he was tying one end of the rope
to a roof post. The next step was to dangle the
loose end of the rope from the window. When
silence came I knew he was outside.
Suddenly the swift beat of running feet fell up¬
on our startled ears. My heart jumped into my
i3 8 JERRY TODD AND
throat and I sprang erect. Plainly an unknown
peril was snapping at Peg’s flying heels. Red’s
breath came hot against the side of my face and
his fingers closed on my arm. Then:
“Fire! Your pa’s brickyard, Jerry. Come
quick!”
My lung valves working again, I gave a gasp
and ran quickly to the window. I was the next
thing to crazy, I guess. Pounding on my brain
was the awful thought that a fire in the brickyard
could easily wipe out Dad’s business. That would
make us poor. And dozens of workmen would
be left without jobs. My darting eyes searched
for and detected a tongue of flame. Just be¬
yond the brickyard barn. I gave a glad cry in
the knowledge that the fire wasn’t in the main
building where the machinery is housed.
“The fire’s just getting a start,” yelled Peg.
“Maybe we can put it out. Hurry, fellows!”
Our faces painted in the red glow of the mount¬
ing flames, we went out through the window.
Me first, then Scoop, then Red. In the sliding
descent the rope burned my palms. I didn’t
mind. Peg was dancing up and down like a man
with bumblebees in his pants. He gripped my
arm and we started down the hill on the run.
“There goes the fire bell,” panted Scoop.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 139
Distant voices took up the hoarse cry of,
“Fire! Fire!” We could hear the clatter of
speeding feet. Then came the shrieking siren of
the fire truck.
Slacking a bit, Peg cried in my ear:
“What’s the idea, Jerry? You run one-sided.”
“I don’t know,” I gasped.
“Why, you’ve lost a shoe,” cried Scoop, look¬
ing down at my feet.
“It’s in the mill,” I panted.
“You’ll need it,” said Peg, going dead still.
“We’ll wait here while you run back and get it.”
I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to keep on
running. Dad needed me. His brickyard was
burning up. I should join him without delay
and help put out the fire.
But in the brief interval that I wavered, Peg
turned me around and started me off with a
shove.
“Make it snappy,” he ordered.
Well, I was too utterly confused to stop and
argue the matter. Vaguely I had the feeling that
the forgotten shoe was not wholly necessary un¬
der the demands of the moment. I could go to
the fire without the shoe, and should. But 1
stronger in my jumbled mind than these impres¬
sions was Peg’s definite orders. Through long
i4o JERRY TODD AND
association with him I have come to rely upon
his judgment in emergencies. He said I needed
the shoe. And, as usual, I accepted his view of
things and acted on his directions.
Headed for the cat farm, I sped over the
ground like an arrow, tumbling up the hill lickety-
cut. Rounding the corner of the mill, I paused
for an instant to get my wind. The open door¬
way was but a few feet away. About to dash
into the mill, I was held in amazement to my
tracks by the unexpected sight of a moving light.
Some one was in the mill!
I don’t know how long I stood there. Poised
and stonelike. Maybe it was not more than a
second or two. Anyway, in the instant that my
blood started flowing again, the confusion went
out of my mind. I am like that. One minute
I’ll be rattle-headed and half scared out of my
wits. Then a reaction will set in, putting me
cool and courageous. I was wholly cool and
courageous now, only I don’t want you to get
the idea I’m bragging about it.
I knew, of course, who was in the mill. And
I had the conviction that the prowler’s presence
at this particular moment was no coincidence.
Unquestionably the brickyard fire was a ruse of
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 141
his to get us away from the mill so he could
carry on his search undisturbed.
I went stiff and hot in the thought of what
little regard the prowler had for Dad’s property.
It seemed almost unbelievable that a man in his
right mind would consider the destruction of a
big industry in order to get possession of a yel¬
low cat. Did the answer to the riddle lie in the
fact that the man was crazy? Yes, that must
be it. But even so the law would accept no ex¬
cuses for the crime he had committed. He should
be captured and put behind the bars where he
could do no further harm. Grimly mindful of
the barrel trap, I became possessed of a compel¬
ling determination to effect the capture single-
handed. I could do it. I was sure I could.
Thus gripped with heroic courage and deter¬
mination, I ran quickly to where Peg’s rope still
dangled from the side window. Up I went hand
over hand. Like a monkey. Only seconds
elapsed before I was in the cot room. What
slight noises I made were drowned by the clamor
that came out of the adjacent brickyard. Auto¬
mobile horns were honking in a continuous blast.
Men’s voices were lifted in a hoarse chorus.
Glancing back, I went momentarily sick in the
142 JERRY TODD AND
knowledge that the fire was gaining ground. Its
hungry tongue was a mighty torch that sent
fingers of red light into the mill, through the win¬
dows and countless wall crevices.
Grimly I let my right hand close over a stout
club, more determined than ever to capture the
firebug and bring him to justice. Thus armed,
I grasped the barrel rope. My eyes went glued
to the cold signal light. The thought came to
me that I’d need a rope to tie my prisoner. Not
daring to change my position, I took my knife
from my pocket and cut a two-foot length from
the barrel rope. This was for the captive’s hands.
I cut another two-foot length for his ankles.
One, two, three, four, five. I counted the sec¬
onds subconsciously. As high as twenty-seven.
Then I got the signal. The prowler was stand¬
ing on the floor switch. Directly beneath the
suspended barrel. Stifling an exultant cry, I
jerked on the rope. There was a responding
clatter in the adjoining room as the barrel fell
to the floor. Then a wild cry rang through the
mill. My head bent forward like a sprinting
football player, I gripped my club and dashed
into the cat room. And what do you know if
I didn’t run headlong into a man’s stomach!
“Ouch!” came angrily from the prowler, who
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 143
in some unaccountable way had escaped the bar¬
rel trap. Before I could get the crick out of my
neck a strong hand gripped me by the coat col¬
lar and I was jerked off my feet.
“You little imp! I’ll teach you to set traps
for me,” and my teeth rattled in the terrific
shaking I received.
But the collar grip relaxed when I kicked the
man in the shins. “Thirteen” is our danger cry.
Yelling the distress signal at the top of my voice
I dashed for the outer door. I knew my wait¬
ing chums would hear me. Within a few feet
of the open door something struck lightly at my
knees. I never suspected it was Peg’s string till
the ink water came down kerswish! With the
bucket upended on my head and the Ink water in
my eyes and ears and mouth, I sort of melted
into a heap, gurgling and spitting and cough-
ing.
Well, if ever there was an inkspot that needed
a blotter I was it. Laugh if you wish, but I
want to tell you it was no laughing matter with
tme. Not so you can notice it! I was crazy in
|the thought that while I was plastered to the
ground, sort of, the prowler would escape me.
So I struggled to collect my senses and get
into action. The more so when a chuckle pene-
144 JERRY TODD AND
trated my half-drowned ears. It was the prowler
laughing at my predicament. Despair gripped
me in the silence that followed. I knew from the
absence of all human sounds that the man was
fast making tracks into the night.
And I had planned to capture him single-
handed! I wanted to do that because it was
heroic. I burned with humiliation. I was a
hero, all right ! So was a brass doorknob a hero.
I was a big boob, that’s what I was. A dumb¬
bell. When it came to a matter of brains a con¬
crete hitching post had me outclassed seven ways
for Sunday.
This train of thought put me good and mad.
So I wasn’t long getting to my feet. And if you
think I didn’t fling that old bucket a million and
fifty miles you should have been here to see for
yourself. I was mad at everybody and everything :
at Peg for fixing up the blamed ink trap ; at Red
because his barrel trap flivvered; at the prowler
for getting the upper hand of me; at myself for
having no better sense than to run into the bucket
string when I knew it was there.
Fortunately only a few splatters of the ink
water got into my eyes. But the taste in my
mouth couldn’t have been any inkier had I been
living on ink soup for the past ten years. Ink
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 145
water dribbled from my nose and ears. My
clothes were soggy. I had a bad smell, too.
Plainly one of the fellows had put something
into the bucket besides ink. Fish glue or stove
polish.
While I stood there dripping ink water the
sound of speeding feet fell on my ears. Even
before the runner came into view I knew it was
Peg. The others, I suspected, had gone on to
the fire.
“I got caught in your confounded ink trap,”
is what I fired at him, when he stopped dead still
in front of me and stared.
“I should say you did,” he gasped. “Gosh!
You look like ‘Topsy’ in Uncle Tom's Cabin."
He then wanted to know why I had sounded
the danger cry and I explained about the man
in the mill.
“You think it was the prowler?” he inquired
excitedly.
“I know it was.”
“Queer,” said Peg, “that he should come here
at the very moment when we were attracted to
the fire.”
“Nothing queer about it,” I differed. “The
brickyard fire was a scheme of his to get us out
of the mill.”
1 46 JERRY TODD AND
Peg was incredulous.
“No man would burn up a brickyard to get
possession of a yellow cat,” he contended.
“How about a crazy man,” I returned.
He stared.
“You think the man is crazy?”
“Of course he’s crazy,” I declared, and I told
why I was of that opinion.
Here Peg wanted to know if I had gotten a
good look at the prowler’s face. I shook my
head, describing the manner in which I had
rammed into the man’s stomach.
“It put me dizzy,” I concluded. “The only
thing I saw was stars.”
Peg was lighting the lantern when Scoop
tumbled into the mill.
“The fire’s out,” he cried. “But it was a bully
good fire while it lasted.”
“Was it the brickyard barn?” Peg inquired,
turning up the wick.
Scoop shook his head.
“The oil house,” he informed. “Not a big
loss. Two-three hundred dollars maybe.”
His voice sort of trailed away as he noticed
my black face. Questions formed in his mouth
but evaporated on his lips.
Again I recited my unhappy adventures. While
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 147
I was talking Red came in, jawing at Scoop for
running away from him.
“They think some one set fire to the oil house,”
he told us, when he got over his grouch. “I
heard the fire chief say so.” He got his eyes
on me and grinned. “What’s the matter?” he
inquired. “Did the ink water fall on you?”
“Oh, no,” I snorted. “It didn’t fall on me.
Of course not. I needed a bath so I got a lad¬
der and lowered myself from the roof into the
bucket. Huh!”
“Well,” giggled Red, “you better get out your
ladder and lower yourself into some one’s cistern.
You need rinsing.”
Peg told the other to shut up. He said I was
out of luck and it wasn’t right for one pal to
laugh at another in trouble. Red’s joke about
the cistern, though, gave me an idea. I did need
rinsing. More than that I needed a good scrub¬
bing. I told the fellows I had best make a trip
to the canal. Peg promptly invited himself to
go along.
At the brickyard dock I stripped and dove in.
It was moonlight now. Peg took my clothes to
the water’s edge and rubbed them with soap
while I scrubbed my head and body. A good bit
of the ink came off. But I was far from white.
1 48 JERRY TODD AND
I could easy enough figure out what Mother
would say when she got her eyes on me.
Returning to the mill in my wet clothes I hung
them on a bush to dry, then joined the others in
the side room.
“I’ve been thinking it over,” said Scoop from
his cot, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that
we’re up against a much bigger mystery than we
imagined. Until to-night it seemed to be a boy¬
sized mystery. But if the prowler is likely to
go around town starting fires I think it is high
time we flagged the information to Bill Hadley.”
“To-morrow,” I said, “I’ll tell Dad. He’ll
know what to do.”
“I bet he’ll hire an extra night watchman,”
spoke up Red.
“That reminds me,” said Peg, “that we better
do some watching to-night on our own hook.
It’s the safest plan. I’ll stand guard till mid¬
night. Then Scoop and Red can watch till
daybreak. We’ll let Jerry snooze. He deserves
it.”
With the sheet pulled up under my chin I shut
my eyes and tried to go to sleep. But my nerves
refused to quiet down. I thought of all the things
that had happened to us. In conclusion I told
myself that Scoop was right in contending that
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 149
the mystery was now a man-sized affair. The
law should indeed step in and take charge of the
maniac. Otherwise there might be another and
more disastrous fire; a murder even.
Here Scoop sat up in bed and started talking.
“Did you say the prowler choked you, Jerry,
when you bumped into him?” he inquired reflec¬
tively.
“No, he shook me.”
“Didn’t even hit you with his fists?”
“No.”
“Then he isn’t crazy,” Scoop declared firmly,
and lay down.
“Of course not,” came from Red. “A crazy
man would have choked you till your eyes popped.
Besides if he is crazy, the farmer’s wife would
have suspected it.”
My thoughts went scattered. If the man wasn’t
crazy, as I had concluded, how could one reconcile
the brickyard fire? We were of the opinion that
the prowler was searching for the rose-colored
cat. Conceding that Lady Victoria was actually
worth five hundred dollars, would a sane man set
fire to a fifty-thousand-dollar brickyard on the
chance of getting possession of a five-hundred-
dollar cat?
The more I thought about it the dizzier I got
CHAPTER X
SIX PINK PEARLS
I didn’t go to Sunday-school the following
morning. Mother said I wasn’t to go anywhere
in public till I got bleached out. She used scour¬
ing powder on me and lemon juice and sweet
cream. When she completed her rubbing and
scrubbing I was only a few shades outside of my
natural color.
“But your clothes are ruined,” she declared,
looking them over with a frown. “I can’t pos¬
sibly get the ink out of them. Oh, Jerry! How
can you do such things?”
“It was an accident,” I defended, shifting my
weight uneasily from one foot to the other.
“Of course. But it seems to me you have more
than your share of such accidents. What will
your father say?”
“Where is Dad?” I countered, running my
tongue over my upper lip in search of more
cream.
“He drove to Ashton to see about his insur-
150
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 15 1
ance. There was a fire in the brickyard last
night.”
“I know all about the fire,” I returned quickly.
“I even know who started it. That’s why I
asked for Dad.”
She looked startled until I told her about our
mysterious prowler. Then she gave a scattered
laugh.
“Jerry! What queer ideas you do get.”
“Queer ideas?” I echoed stiffly.
“To imagine that a mysterious man is trying
to steal your cats.”
“But it’s so,” I persisted.
“Nonsense. More than likely it’s some boy try¬
ing to bother you.”
“It’s a man,” I declared.
“But why should a man try to get your cats
away from you?”
“That’s the mystery. We don’t know why the
prowler wants the yellow cat. But it’s a cinch
he started the brickyard fire last night.”
“Your father will have a good laugh when he
hears this.”
I let my neck go stiff.
“All right,” I said, with a sharp bob of my
head. “I won’t tell Dad if I’ve got to be made
fun of. But you just wait and see who’s right.”
152 JERRY TODD AND
When the boy came with the Sunday news*
papers I rolled up the one that had printed the
professor’s cat farm advertisement and beat it
for the old mill. Peg was alone when I tumbled
in through the door. He took the news section
while I buried myself in the funny pictures.
Presently he gave a gasp, as though he had run
across something in the newspaper that amazed
him. I glanced up and found him staring into
my face.
“Here’s a big article about Mrs0 Kepple,” he
said.
“Our ten-dollar woman?” I inquired quickly.
He nodded and handed me the folded news¬
paper, putting a finger on the article that had
come under his attention.
When I saw the column heading I was so ex¬
cited I could hardly read. “ Mysterious Pearl
Robbery” is what stood out before my eager eyes
in big black letters. I quickly absorbed the news
story, learning therefrom that Mrs. Peter Kep¬
ple had been robbed of six pink pearls. Valued
at two thousand dollars each, the pearls had mys¬
teriously disappeared from a wall safe in her
Chicago home. In describing the pearls the arti¬
cle stated that they were of uniform siz*e, un-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 153
mounted, and were considered remarkable in
their unusual sheen and luster.
The thief, according to the newspaper, had
seemingly left no clews behind him. The police
and detectives were baffled. Exactly what day
or hour the pearls had been lifted from the safe
no one knew. Hurrying to get her household in
order for a lengthy absence, Mrs. Kepple had
only discovered that the gem case was empty
when the representative of a bonded safe de¬
posit company called at her home to receive her
jewels into storage.
I was still buried in the absorbing article when
the sound of squeaking shoes carried to my ears.
A moment later Red and Scoop trailed into the
mill dressed up in their Sunday clothes.
Peg promptly hoisted his big nose into the air
and sniffed.
“Wough!” he cried contemptuously. ‘‘I smell
perfume.”
“Ma made me use some of her toilet soap on
my face,” Red confessed sheepishly.
“You look sort of 999%oo% pure,” grinned
Peg.
“I didn’t want to dress up for Sunday-school
but she made me,” Red continued unhappily, giv»
i54 JERRY TODD AND
ing his starched collar a vicious jerk. “Blame
it ! How can any one expect a fellow to breathe
with a thing like this clamped on his windpipe?”
“If your ma wants to dress you up like a
preacher she ought to buy you some nice pink
pearls for shirt studs.”
I could tell from this remark that Peg was
itching to startle the newcomers with an account
of the pearl robbery. So I let him go ahead.
When he ran out of wind I offered to read the
article aloud. It concluded with a reference to
the rose-colored cat that had escaped my atten¬
tion on the first brief reading.
“The unfortunate owner of the stolen pearls,
as is well known along the North Shore, has the
distinction of possessing the most valuable cat in
Chicago, if not in the entire country. This re¬
markable feline, Lady Victoria, has secured for
her mistress many coveted beauty prizes, and it
has been reported that Her Majesty is valued at
no less than five hundred dollars.”
“A lot of newspaper bunk,” snorted Scoop,
when I concluded. “That alley cat win beauty
prizes? Bah!”
“Yes,” followed up Peg, “if the cat we chloro¬
formed is a prize winner, like the newspaper
says, Red here is entitled to a beauty medal the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 155
size of a washtub,” and he gave us the wink.
“Hey!” scowled Red, going stiff and scrappy.
“How do you get that way?”
I joined in the laugh that followed.
“Anyway,” I put in, tossing the newspaper
aside, “it’s a cinch ‘Her Majesty’ won’t pull down
any more beauty prizes.”
“Ain’t that a fact,” agreed Scoop, following
me in thought to the cat grave on the crest of
the adjacent hill.
“I have the feeling,” I added, “that there’s
going to be a six-cylinder shake-up in the Kepple
family when they learn that their prize-winner
has kicked the bucket.”
“Let’s hope,” put in Scoop, with a shrug of
his shoulders, “that we don’t get damaged in the
shake-up.”
Peg went thoughtful.
“We do a lot of guessing,” he said slowly,
“and more than half of the time we guess wrong.
But I’m going to make the prediction that there’s
some unknown connection between the rose-
colored cat, the stolen pearls and the mysterious
prowler. From the way the article reads I take
it that the cat was sent to us about the time the
pearls disappeared. That in itself strikes me as
being more than a coincidence.” He let this
156 JERRY TODD AND
thought sink in, then added: “Possibly the cat
buyer isn’t the mysterious prowler, as we think.
The newspaper mentions detectives. Maybe the
man who boarded at the farmhouse is a Chicago
detective.”
Here Red gave a yip and jumped into the con¬
versation.
“I know,” he cried. “The cat buyer is a de¬
tective, as Peg says, and the prowler is the pearl
thief.”
This was contrary to Scoop’s theory that the
cat buyer was in reality the mysterious prowler.
“Why should the thief hang around Putter?”
I put in, unwilling to immediately accept Red’s
view. “The newspaper says he got away with
the pearls. Why doesn’t he play safe and head
for Mexico or South America?”
“I guess we know well enough why he’s hang¬
ing around here,” returned Red. “He wants the
yellow cat. Don’t you see, Jerry? The thief is
1 somebody who knows Mrs. Kepple pretty well.
’Not satisfied with hooking the pearls he intends
to steal her cat. Um - I guess there’s a lot
of crooks who’d steal a five-hundred-dollar cat
if they had a chance. Doesn’t that sound reason¬
able ?”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 157
I told him his idea didn’t register with me at
all. A hot argument followed. Then Peg flagged
my attention, pressing me with questions bearing
on the previous night’s adventure.
“And you say you didn’t get a look at the!
prowler’s face, Jerry?”
I shook my head “no.”
“And you don’t know whether the man is short
or tall or skinny or fat?”
I squeezed my memory.
“He was a big man,” I said slowly. “Not
fat, but well-built. Had he been skinny I would
have knocked him over when I rammed into
him.”
“You had a good look at the cat buyer the
afternoon we followed the Strickers into the
country,” proceeded the questioner. “Would you
call him a big man?”
“No-o,” I returned slowly. “He seemed more
like a boy just growing into a man.”
Peg’s black eyes snapped with satisfaction.
“Exactly!” said he, and turned to the others.
“You’re right, Red. The prowler and the cat
buyer are two different men. And, that being the
case, what more likely than that one is a detective,
as I say?”
“Nix,” scowled Scoop, unwilling to see his
158 JERRY TODD AND
theory go down in defeat. “The fact that we
have the cat buyer’s cap is evidence that the
man was in the mill last Thursday night.”
Peg crossed the room and removed the gray
cloth cap from its peg.
“I happen to know,” he said quietly, “that this
isn’t the cat buyer’s cap, as you imagine. When
I was down town yesterday afternoon I met
the farmer’s wife on the street and she told me
she had found a gray cloth cap in the closet of
the vanished boarder’s bedroom. Also the black
hat he wore the evening he disappeared from
the farmhouse was his own and not the farmer’s.
You see, Scoop, you guessed wrong. I intended
to tell you all the woman said but I forgot about
it in the rush of fixing the ink trap.”
Scoop’s chestiness went punctured and he shut
up. He’s a good pal, and I like him a lot, but
I can’t say was I sorry to see him get tripped up.
A fall now and then lets him know without us tell¬
ing him that he’s just as likely to stumble over his
own feet as we are to stumble over ours.
“Come along,” he growled to Red, “it’s Sun¬
day-school time.”
Left alone, Peg and I went deeper into a dis¬
cussion of the mystery. But the more we talked
about the affair the greater became our mental
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 159
confusion. If the prowler were indeed the pearl
thief, why was he risking his liberty to get pos¬
session of the yellow cat? Suppose he were ar¬
rested in the act of stealing it. The police would
search his pockets and find the stolen pearls.
That would mean a jail sentence for him. Easy.
Why then did he invite a situation that was so
likely to bring about his downfall?
Peg said it was the five hundred dollars. I
argued in return that Lady Victoria wouldn’t be
worth five hundred dollars to the thief because
he couldn’t sell her. If he tried that he would
be arrested.
And if the vanished cat buyer were a Chicago
detective, as Peg still contended, why did he
work so mysteriously in the dark, instead of com¬
ing to us openly to enlist our support? Where
was he hiding out? Who sent him the telegram
from the state capital?
“To-morrow,” reflected Peg, “is the day Mrs*
Kepple arrives at the Walkers Lake Sanitarium,
Let’s hope she’ll have an answer to the riddle.”
This concluding reference to the owner of the
rose-colored cat recalled to my troubled mind
the tragic outcome of Scoop’s operation. And
anxiety settled deeper about me as my thoughts
probed the future.
CHAPTER XI
TWO MRS. KEPPLES
Sunday came quietly to a close, and in keeping
with our plans Scoop and I headed for the Walk¬
ers Lake Sanitarium the following morning.
I can’t say were we very perky in the prospect
of facing Mrs. Kepple with the information that
her rose-colored cat had “passed beyond,” as they
tell about in the Tutter newspaper when some
respected citizen dies. On the other hand, it was
not improbable that in her knowledge of things
she could readily clear up the mystery surround¬
ing the yellow cat. So, as we proceeded on our
way, we were by turns depressed and eagerly
anticipant.
Walkers Lake is situated three miles south of
Tutter on what we call the river road. In the
summer months there is a great deal of automo¬
bile traffic between the lake and town. Scoop
said we would watch our chance and hook a ride.
Accordingly when a truck came into view from
behind us he signaled to me and we hopped on.
1 60
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 161
It was a Tutter truck and the driver recognized
us.
“Where you kids goin’?” he called over his
shoulder, lifting his friendly voice above the
truck’s rumbling clatter.
“Sanitarium,” Scoop yelled back.
“Pretty soft for you. I’m goin’ there myself.”
When we came to the Illinois River the heavy
wheels put a thunderous rattle into the bridge’*
plank flooring. A crew of men were giving the
ironwork a coat of red paint. We yelled at them
as we passed and they flipped paint at us. It
was fun, only the truck driver got sore when a
daub of paint hit him on the nose. Gosh! It
made him look like an old toper.
Just before we came within sight of the lake
I asked Scoop if it were his intention to inquire
the names of all the women we met in and about
the sanitarium in order to get in touch with Mrs.
Kepple.
“The best plan,” said he, “will be to ask for
her at the desk where the people register. The
clerk will know how to find her. That’s a part
of his business.”
The driver was still grumbling about his red
nose when the truck stopped at the sanitarium
garage. We made the grinning suggestion that
162 JERRY TODD AND
he give his nose a gasoline bath and continued
on foot till we came to the big main building fac¬
ing the lake. Here we found a lot of people.
Their easy laughter and idle conversation deep¬
ened our depression. Plainly they had no wor¬
ries such as we had. Picking our way through
several groups on the wide front porch, we entered
the office.
Scoop told the desk clerk we had an important
message for Mrs. Kepple and the man obligingly
put in a call on the house telephone. Presently
he thumped a desk bell, summoning a uniformed
bell-hop. I pretty nearly fell over backwards
when I found myself looking into Jimmy Strie¬
ker’s scowling face. Then I recalled that his
older brother was a regular bell-hop in the sani¬
tarium. I wondered if Jimmy had a steady job
or was just substituting.
“Show these two young gentlemen up to par¬
lor B,” the clerk directed briskly. “Mrs. Kep¬
ple is awaiting them.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jimmy, just as nice as pie; but
when he turned to us you should have seen the
ugly look on his face ! It galled him to have
to wait on us and show us around.
Scoop grasped the situation and grinned.
“A little service, Hoppy,” said he, as we
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 163
turned from the office into a long hall. “Step
lively now.”
“Go chase yourself!” growled our furious con¬
ductor.
That made us laugh. But we went sober again
in the presence of a stylishly-dressed elderly lady
who glanced at us inquiringly from out of the
comfortable depths of a big-armed rocking chair.
“You have a message for me I believe,” Mrs.
Kepple prompted in a pleasing refined voice, lift¬
ing a silky-haired cat from a fancy floor basket
into her lap.
Scoop gulped and shifted his cap from one
fidgety hand to the other.
“We are two boys from the Tutter Feline Rest
Farm. We come to tell you some bad news
about your cat.”
“Yes?” and the white forehead went slightly
puckered, as though Scoop’s words were vague
in their meaning.
“Lady Victoria,” he announced soberly, “is
dead.”
The woman stiffened and stared.
“What in the world are you talking about?’1
she demanded.
“Your rose-colored cat. As 1 say — ”
“My what?”
1 64 JERRY TODD AND
I could see that Scoop was rattled.
“I’m trying to make you understand, ma’am,”
he floundered, “that your five-hundred-dollar,
rose-colored cat is dead.” Then he tumbled on:
“We’re awfully sorry, Mrs. Kepple. We’d will¬
ingly pay you for the cat if we had any money,
but we haven’t.”
The listener gripped the chair arms. She
seemed amazed.
“Are you boys trying to be rude and annoy
me? Or are you out of your senses?”
Scoop resented this. I observed his shoulders
stiffen.
“We aren’t dippy,” he returned shortly, “if
that’s what you mean.”
“But why do you come to me with such an
impossible story?”
“Why shouldn’t we come to you?” he countered
quickly. “It’s your cat. You sent it to us at our
rest farm and it died on our hands.” Here he
proceeded with an account of the rat-trap ac¬
cident and the operation. “You see,” he con¬
cluded, “we aren’t so terribly much to blame.
It just happened, sort of.”
On the moment Mrs. Kepple relaxed into the
chair’s depths, burying her face in a handker¬
chief. The muffled laughter that penetrated our
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 165
ears filled us with mingled anxiety and amaze¬
ment. Was she out of her mind over the cat’s
death? It would seem so. I wanted to beat it.
“You boys are plainly the victims of a practi¬
cal joke/’ she then explained.
“A joke?” came unsteadily from Scoop.
She nodded.
“It cannot be otherwise, because I know noth¬
ing of the cat you operated upon. I sent you no
cat; nor did I send you any money. Certainly
the cat you refer to is not Lady Victoria. This
is Victoria in my lap.”
Well, that ended the interview. Dazed and
dumbfounded, we retraced our steps to the office,
then stumbled into the open air. Here our lungs
got to working again.
“I’ll be jiggered,” said Scoop, when we were
well on our way back to town. “Can you figure
it out, Jerry?”
I told him I couldn’t.
Presently he concluded a period of reflection
with a scattered laugh.
, “Anyway, we aren’t in debt five hundred dol¬
lars for the yellow cat. Lucky, I’ll say. But if
• that is one less worry for us, how do we know
that a trouble more serious even than the dead
cat isn’t in ambush just ahead of us? It’s some-
1 66 JERRY TODD AND
thing to think about. Mrs. Kepple said the cat
was sent to us as a joke. I don’t believe it. As
Peg told us the day the ten-dollar bill arrived,
practical jokers don’t give away real money.
Nope.”
I agreed with him that the cat had been sent
to us for a reason. And I further shared his
view that our adventure was likely to become
even more complicated if the prowler’s deter¬
mination to get possession of the cat deepened
into desperation.
Plodding along the dusty road, I recalled Red’s
theory that the prowler was the pearl thief. Peg,
too, contended that the thief was intent on steal¬
ing the five-hundred-dollar cat. .What would they
say when they learned from us that the rose-
colored cat was of the valueless alley variety?
No, I concluded, it wasn’t the cat’s money
value that made it attractive to the mysterious
prowler, as Red and Peg declared. There was
another value, the nature of which was unknown
to us. Therein lay the solution of the mystery.
I was sure of it.
Just before we came to the river bridge Scoop
gave a low whistle, thereby lifting me out of my
thoughts.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 167
“We forgot something, Jerry.”
“Yes?” I returned uncertainly.
“We never told Mrs. Kepple about our
prowler.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“If you’re thinking of going back to the sani¬
tarium,” I said, “you can leave me out of it.”
I meant it, too. » A fellow hates to be made fun
of. And we had no assurance that the Chicago
woman wouldn’t accept a continuation of our
story with further indifferent laughter. I was
in no mood to risk it, as I quickly explained to
Scoop.
The morning was well advanced when we came
briskly into town. Realizing that Red and Peg
would be intensely interested in the amazing out¬
come of our trip to the sanitarium, we went di¬
rectly to the old mill, taking the hill on the bounds
Here we found Peg seated in the doorway, re¬
flectively cleaning the spade we had used in dig¬
ging Lady Victoria’s grave. In the greeting that
followed our sudden appearance I conceived a
worried look in his eyes.
Scoop and I had agreed between us that he
was to tell the story of our experiences, so I
yipped to Red to come from the mill and listen.
1 68 JERRY TODD AND
“Red’s at the depot,” Peg told me.
“I hope, for Pete’s sake, it isn’t more cats!”
Scoop spoke up in alarm.
The other gave a dispirited grin and got to
his feet.
“No; ft’s Indians.”
We stared as Peg set his spade inside the door.
“Some kind of a show troupe,” he informed.
“Going to put on a real Indian war dance at the
sanitarium, so Tommy Hegan said. He and Red
are watching them unload the truck from their
special car. I intended to go along, but before I
could get away from here Mrs. Kepple came
and - ”
Scoop sucked in his breath.
“What’s that?” he interrupted, staring at Peg
as though he doubted his ears.
“I said I couldn’t go with Red and Tommy to
watch the Indians because Mrs. Kepple came here
for her cat and I had to dig it up.”
Scoop acted as though he had parked his senses
somewhere and couldn’t recall the location.
“Make it plainer,” he begged, touching Peg’s
arm with a faltering hand. “My head’s in a
whirl. Did you say Mrs. Kepple was here? In
the mill?”
Peg nodded.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 169
“She came shortly after you fellows left. Rid¬
ing in a classy green car with a chauffeur and
everything. I suspected who the visitor was even
before she handed me a calling card with her
name printed on it. Then she asked for her rose-
colored cat and I explained about the operation.
Her face turned a greenish white. Getting con¬
trol of herself, she asked me where the cat was
buried. I told her. She said her distress would
be less keen if she could have one final look at
her unfortunate pet, so I got the spade and we
climbed the hill, the chauffeur trailing along
behind.”
Here Peg paused and moistened his lips.
“Well?” Scoop prompted with tense eagerness.
“Now comes the queer part,” Peg continued
slowly, looking first into Scoop’s eyes, then into
mine. “I dug up the carcass. Mrs. Kepple
asked me to take it out of the box so she could
get a better look at it. Ough! I had to hold
my nose. ‘But where is my cat collar?’ says she.
‘It isn’t on the cat. How do I know this is my
poor Lady Victoria ?’ I told her it was the rose-
colored cat, all right. ‘You are trying to steal
my cat collar,’ she then accused. ‘You never
buried it with the cat. Get it for me this in¬
stant or I shall have you arrested.’ ”
170 JERRY TODD AND
During this recital the dazed look had com*
pletely vanished from Scoop’s face. Now he
gave a jubilant cry.
“Hot dog!” he yipped, going through some
crazy antics. “I’ve got the drift of things. Yea,
boy! It isn’t the cat the prowler wants; it’s the
copper collar”
Again Peg nodded.
“That’s the way I have it figured out. But
will you tell me where the blamed collar disap¬
peared to?”
“I remember seeing it when I performed the
operation,” came quickly from Scoop.
“It was on the cat when we buried her,” I
followed up.
“There was no copper collar in sight when I
unearthed the carcass,” Peg declared. “Mrs. Kep-
ple wouldn’t believe me when I told her I knew
nothing of where the collar had disappeared to.
She left here in a huff, threatening to have us
arrested. ‘I’ll give you just twenty-four hours
to recover the missing collar and mail it to me
at the sanitarium,’ is what she said when she
drove away. Um - Now where in Sam Hill
did that collar go to? We’ve got to find it if
we hope to save our hides.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 17 1
“Rats!” exclaimed Scoop. “We have noth¬
ing to fear from that woman. It wasn’t Mrs.
Kepple at all.”
“It was Mrs. Kepple,” Peg bridled in his
characteristic stubborn way. “Didn’t I just tell
you she gave me her calling card? Here it is.
And she knew all about the rose-colored cat and
the ten-dollar bill.”
Scoop motioned the other down.
“I tell you it wasn’t Mrs. Kepple,” he re¬
affirmed. “Jerry and I talked with Mrs. Kepple
in the sanitarium. Certainly she couldn’t have
been in both places.”
“Of course not,” I put in. “The woman you
talked with,” I told Peg, “was some one imper¬
sonating Mrs. Kepple.”
But he was unwilling to back down.
“Maybe,” he said with narrowed eyes, “it was
the impersonator you fellows talked with. Can
you prove that it wasn’t?”
We couldn’t.
CHAPTER XII
THE COPPER COLLAR
I guess you will agree with me that it was
a queer situation. A yellow cat had been sent
to our cat farm accompanied by a letter over
Mrs. Peter Kepple’s signature representing the
“rose-colored” cat to be worth five hundred dol¬
lars. Now an elderly woman registered at the
iWalkers Lake Sanitarium as Mrs. Peter Kepple
denied all knowledge of the cat. And in the same
hour a young “Mrs. Peter Kepple” from the
sanitarium had called at the mill asking for her
“rose-colored” cat.
Of course what Peg’s visitor wanted more
than the cat itself was the copper collar, though
she plainly had intended to keep this fact from
us. What had put us wise was her unguarded
hysterics at the cat’s grave, wherein her concern
I had been centered entirely on the vanished collar.
We had particularly noticed the copper collar
the day the cat arrived in Tutter. Not because
we considered the collar in any way remarkable,
172
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 173
but because it was unusual to see a cat wearing
a collar. In our discussion of the matter Scoop
had given as his opinion that the collar was worth
possibly seventy-five cents.
Now we asked ourselves would the woman 1
have been so nervously excited over the loss of
a seventy-five-cent cat collar? And would the
mysterious prowler repeatedly try to steal a col¬
lar of such small value? The answer being “no”
in both cases, we promptly concluded that the
collar held a value far and beyond what we had
suspected.
As for the yellow cat, we were united in the opin*
ion that it had been picked up in some Chicago
alley. Calling it rose-colored was a clever .
scheme to excite our curiosity in the cat itself
and not in its copper collar. Whoever had sent
us the cat wanted the collar to escape close ob¬
servation.
This being true, why then had the collar been
sent to us? What was its secret? Were the
woman and man linked together? Was the wo¬
man Mrs. Kepple or an impostor? And if the
prowler were indeed the pearl thief, was the
mysterious affair a peculiar attempt on Mrs. Kep-
ple’s part to recover her stolen gems?
These were some of the confusing questions
174 JERRY TODD AND
that went unanswered in our reflective review of
the situation. Nor could we in conclusion ex¬
plain the collar’s disappearance.
Our thoughts were momentarily lifted from
the mystery by the sudden appearance of Red,
who tumbled into the mill licking an all-day
sucker. We wondered at his hilarity till we
learned from him that he had earned a quarter
taking care of twin papooses while their mother
went around town selling beaded bracelets.
“Help yourself,” he invited, passing us his sack
of candy.
While we enjoyed Red’s treat I told him about
the two Mrs. Kepples and the copper collar.
The fact that one of us had dug into the grave
to recover the collar for its owner struck him
as being funny.
“I could have saved you all that digging,” he
grinned at Peg, “if you had asked me about the
collar.”
Here Scoop gave a jump and almost swallowed
his sucker.
“Do you know where the collar is?” he gurgled
excitedly.
Red nodded.
“I took the collar off of the cat just before we
put it away in the cheese box,” he informed.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 175
This brought a yip from Scoop.
“Bully boy, Red ol’ kid!” he cried, spiritedly
thumping the other on the back. “You get the
hand-crocheted doorknob, all right, all right.”
Red promptly swelled up. That’s his way.
Praise makes him top-heavy. Every time. I’m
glad I’m not like that. A real hero doesn’t go
around encouraging people to brag on him. I
guess not. You never see me doing that.
“Yes,” Red reviewed importantly, his chest
punched up, “I gave the cat the final once-over
while Peg was straightening the cover nails.
‘That’s a good collar,’ I says to myself. ‘Worth
savin’,’ says I wisely. And then - ”
Scoop gave a gesture of impatience over the
way the talker was throwing bouquets at himself.
“Where is it?” he cut in shortly.
“I took it home,” informed Red.
Scoop started briskly for the door.
“Come along, gang,” he called over his
shoulder.
I knew, of course, that he was heading for
Red’s house to inspect the copper collar. And
as I closed the mill door behind me and ran after
him I thrilled with excitement in the thought that
only a few minutes now separated us from a prob¬
able solution of the mystery.
176 JERRY TODD AND
Turning into Main Street, we passed our house
and a moment later cut across Red’s lawn. Mrs.
Meyers was on the front porch sprinkling insect
powder into her cage of canaries. She gave us
an inquiring glance as we tumbled up the steps;
then centered her whole attention in Red, who
was headed on a beeline for the door.
“Wipe your feet,” she cautioned sharply, “and
don’t slam the screen. I’ve got a cake in the
oven.”
Presently] Red yelled down the stairs:
“Ma! Hey, ma!”
“Well?”
“What have you gone and done with my cat
collar?”
“Cat collar?”
“I had it hung on the left arm of my Chinese
idol. It’s gone.”
Mrs. Meyers’ face cleared.
“Oh, yes. I know what collar you mean.”
“Gosh!” growled Red. “If you ain’t the
limit — always hiding my truck. I never know
where to look for anything ten minutes after I
lay it down.”
“I put the collar on Xarvia,” informed Mrs.
Meyers.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 177
“Who’s Tarvia?” Red wanted to know.
“That’s the name your pa gave the black cat
I brought home from the mill last week.”
Red’s feet clattered on the stairs.
“Is the cat in the barn?” he inquired from the
doorway.
“Tarvia,” Mrs. Meyers stated quietly, “has
disappeared.”
Red’s jaw dropped.
“The cat came up missing the very day I
brought it home,” his mother continued. “That
was last Friday, I believe. I fed it and put it
on the back porch. That’s the last I’ve seen of
it.”
Here Red showed his temper. But he came
off of his high horse in a jiffy when his mother
threatened to warm him up with a shingle.
“Just the same,” he growled, “you had no
business taking my cat collar and losing it. Now
we can’t solve the mystery.”
“I have the feeling,” Mrs. Meyers said help¬
fully, “that the cat is somewhere in the neigh¬
borhood. If you inquire for it up and down the
street I imagine you’ll locate it.”
Scoop agreed that this was the proper thing
to do.
178 JERRY TODD AND
“You can take this side of the street,” he in¬
structed Red, “and I’ll take the other side. Peg,
you and Jerry can inquire in the side streets.”
An hour later we formed a somewhat dis¬
couraged group on Red’s back porch. Our sys¬
tematic search throughout the neighborhood had
failed to uncover any trace of the missing cat.
Nor had a single person we talked with admitted
seeing a cat of any color or description wearing a
copper collar. No doubt the black cat was in
Tutter as Mrs. Meyers maintained, but it might
take us a week to locate it. And until we knew for
certain that the young Mrs. Kepple was an im¬
postor it was well to play safe and recover the
collar within the time limits she had specified.
How then were we to proceed?
“They say it pays to advertise,” spoke up
Scoop, “and I believe it. So let us post a notice
on the bulletin board at the town hall. If we
work it right we can have one hundred Tutter
kids searching for the cat within an hour. And
the more kids we have on the job the sooner
the cat’ll be found.”
Mrs. Meyers got for us a square of white paper
and a bottle of black ink.
“Is it your scheme to offer a reward for the
recovery of the cat?” she inquired.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 179
Scoop ran his fingers through his hair.
“Gee-miny, Mrs. Meyers, we can’t offer a re¬
ward when we haven’t any money.”
“Urn - You ought to have a reward,” she
followed up. “Boys like to be paid for their
work. Suppose you make it one dollar and send
the bill to me.”
It was pretty fine of Mrs. Meyers to offer to
put up the money for the reward. We told her
so. Then we got busy and printed our notice.
Here it is:
BOYS ! ! !
Find Tarvia and Win This
Big Reward!
I will pay any Tutter boy one dollar who finds
the black cat that strayed from 1014 Main
Street last Friday. Cat’s name is Tarvia. Was
last seen wearing a copper collar. Collar must
be returned with the cat.
Donald Meyers.
Hurrying to the town hall we recited our scheme
to Bill Hadley and asked his permission to post
the notice on the bulletin board just without the
door.
“Sure thing you can put up your notice,” con-
i8o JERRY TODD AND
sented Bill, grinning at us in his usual friendly
way. He’s awful homely but I try not to notice
it when I talk with him. Anyway, he’s a good
policeman. Dad says so.
Here Scoop screwed up his forehead under a
new train of thought.
“Now I wonder,” he said reflectively, “if it
wouldn’t seem more official if we had a man’s
name signed to the notice instead of a boy’s
name. Um - How would it be if we used your
name, Mr. Hadley?”
Bill promptly craned his neck.
“What’s that?” he inquired quickly.
In repeating his words Scoop explained that
Red’s signature might suggest to some boys that
the notice was a joke.
“They’ll know it’s sincere if you sign it,” he
concluded convincingly.
“All right,” Bill laughed, patting Scoop on the
back.
So we promptly erased Red’s name and sub¬
stituted Bill’s. Scoop was right. The new sig¬
nature gave the notice a desired touch of impor¬
tance.
Here Peg and Red returned to the mill while
Scoop and I put up the notice. A gang of boys
same noisily down the street. Upon Scoop’s sug«
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 181
gestion I ran to the corner. Then in keeping
with our plan he yipped at me :
“Hey, Jerry Todd! Here’s a chance for you
to earn some money.”
The passing boys stopped and pricked up their
ears.
“What’s that?” I yipped back.
“Come here and read this notice about a lost
cat. If you find the cat you get a big reward.”
This brought the newcomers around the bul¬
letin board. They said it would be fun search¬
ing for the cat, and off they started. Shortly an¬
other group of boys came into sight and we re¬
peated our yipping stunt, thereby attracting them
to the bulletin board. It was fun to see them
leave on the run.
“Before noon,” laughed Scoop, “we’ll have
every kid in town on Tarvia’s trail.”
“Let’s hope they don’t step on Tarvia’s tail,”
I joked contentedly.
“Even the Strieker gang,” he added quickly,
pointing down the street to where Bid Strieker
was fast approaching, his chums hurrying along
at his heels.
“Let’s move on to the corner,” I suggested as
a matter of precaution.
Evidently some one had told Bid about the cat
182 JERRY TODD AND
notice. Going directly to the bulletin board he
cried to the others:
“Here it is.”
“Reads like a joke,” came presently from an¬
other boy.
“Joke nothin’,” Bid argued sharply. “Lookit!
It’s got Bill Hadley’s name signed to it.”
Here they put their heads together in guarded
conversation.
“Yes,” Bid concluded aloud, “we’ll make it
snappy,” and off they hurried, laughing and talk¬
ing.
Scoop’s eyes were heavy with distrust.
“I wonder what they’re up to,” he muttered.
“They act to me as though they know some¬
thing about that cat,” I returned.
“Um - I believe you’re right, Jerry. Sup¬
pose we follow them.”
We did this, keeping well behind so as to es¬
cape detection. Presently the others turned to
the right into the Treebury pike. This brought
a cry from Scoop.
“Jerry!” he gasped, clutching my arm. “Don’t
you tumble?”
“You think they’re heading for the brick house
where they sold the cats?”
“Absolutely.” A queer sound came from his
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 183
throat. “When was it the black cat disappeared
from Mrs. Meyers’ back porch?”
“Last Friday morning,” I supplied, recalling
what Red’s mother had told us.
“And wasn’t it last Friday morning that the
Strickers ransacked the town for stray cats?”
I nodded; and then my eyes sought my com¬
panion’s in a dumb stare as I grasped the truth
of the situation. Mrs. Meyers’ black cat had
not strayed from its new home as she imagined.
It had been picked up by the Strickers and then
sold by them to the cat buyer. Now they were
deep in some kind of a scheme to recover the
cat and obtain the reward.
Scoop’s forehead was clouded with reflection.
“Evidently,” he spoke up, “Bid knows about
the barnful of cats left behind by the buyer.
And he intends either to beg the black cat from
the farmer’s wife or snitch it. Blame it! I wish
we could get to the farmhouse ahead of him.”
We were now in the outskirts. Here the turn¬
pike follows a winding course. My thoughts put
into action by Scoop’s concluding remark, I told
myself it would be no trick at all for us to get
to the farmhouse ahead of Bid and his gang
if we could only leave the turnpike and travel in
a straight line. But to cut across the cultivated
1 84 JERRY TODD AND
fields would be hard walking. Any gain we
might make by following that course would be
slight.
Then I happily thought of the canal that lay
just beyond the knoll to our left. We could travel
the towpath as far as the old Morgan house,
then cut through the fields to the crossroads.
That would easily bring us in ahead of Bid and
his chums.
There wasn’t a moment to spare, so with a
hurried explanation I cried to Scoop to follow
me into the roadside thicket. Running up the
slope we soon came within sight of the towering
oaks and elms that grow in the moist soil of the
paralleling canal banks.
Soon we were headed north on the towpath.
Here it was cool and quiet. The tang of the
water got into our nostrils, building up thoughts
of swimming and fishing. The old deserted Mor¬
gan house appeared in the distance. As we came
closer its glassless window frames and broken-
down doors recalled to my mind the Sunday morn¬
ing we found Mr. Arnoldsmith bent over the
crumbling fireplace cooking his breakfast of bacon
and eggs. That was the day he told us about
the strange mummy itchers and made us swear,
as loyal Juvenile Jupiter Detectives, to keep his
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 185
secret. If you have read my book about the
whispering mummy you will recall that Mr.
Arnoldsmith was the president of our detective
agency.
A grip on my arm brought me out of my
thoughts.
“There’s the crossroads and the brick house,”
Scoop pointed.
Turning from the towpath we dipped into a
cornfield, then followed a lane leading to the
barnyard. Here we cautiously squinted down the
turnpike. As yet the Strickers were nowhere in
sight.
Darting across the barnyard we ran up the
steps of the kitchen porch. The clatter of our
shoes attracted the farmer’s wife to the door.
“Dear me !” was her alarmed cry, as she caught
sight of our flushed faces. “What has hap¬
pened?”
Scoop quickly told her about the black cat and
the copper collar.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said slowly,
“but I gave away the black cat the same day you
were here.”
She then explained that her “cat premium”
sign had attracted the attention of a number of
passing motorists.
1 86 JERRY TODD AND
“My first egg customer,” she concluded, “was
a lady who drove into the yard, accompanied by
a little girl. I gave them their pick of the cats.”
Scoop moistened his lips.
“And they took the black one?”
“Yes. The girl preferred it to the others be¬
cause of its resemblance to a cat she had re¬
cently lost.”
“And you threw in the copper collar?”
The other nodded.
“Was it a Tutter lady?”
“No; her home is in the country.”
Scoop brightened.
“Then you know her?” he followed up eagerly.
“I never set eyes on her before. During our
conversation she spoke of living in the country.
That’s how I came to know about it.”
Excusing herself, the woman gave brief atten¬
tion to the dinner cooking on the stove, then
hastened to inquire if we had seen anything of
her vanished boarder. We wearily told her we
hadn’t. Here a boy’s whistle fell on our ears.
Thanking her for telling us about the cat we
hurried out of sight. The Strickers, of course,
would fare no better than we had, but it was just
as well not to let them see us.
The noon whistles lifted their voices in a jazzy
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 187
chorus as we came into town, hot, tired and dis¬
couraged. Getting on the outside of a big din¬
ner I hurried to the old mill. The others were'
already there. I could tell from the general air
of depression that Scoop had told the story of
our unsuccessful trip into the country.
Evening came. So far no black cat had been
delivered into Bill Hadley’s hands at the town
hall. Dispirited and out of sorts, I told myself
that never again would we see anything of either
the black cat or the copper collar.
The others talked of the prowler’s possible
return.
“If he does come,” gritted Peg, “I hope I get
first crack at him with my club.”
Scoop gave a nervous laugh.
“What if Mrs. Kepple decides to pay us a mid¬
night visit? We don’t want to club her on the
head.”
Peg turned quickly.
“You mean my Mrs. Kepple?”
The other nodded.
“No danger of her coming here in the middle
of the night,” Peg returned confidently. “Nor
the other Mrs. Kepple, either.” J
“There’s only the one.”
“That’s what you think.”
1 88 JERRY TODD AND
“This afternoon,” Scoop informed slowly, “I
telephoned to the sanitarium to inquire if the
two Mrs. Kepples arrived together. The desk
clerk told me there was only one Mrs. Kepple
registered; and she came last Thursday eve-
ning.
Peg stared.
“But I thought she arrived this morning.”
“No; she came Thursday evening — four days
ahead of time.”
There was a tense silence.
“Thursday evening,” Peg reflected. “Why,
that’s the night we played ghost.”
Scoop nodded.
“I don’t understand it,” Peg cried in a daze.
“The prowler can’t possibly be Mrs. Kepple.
We know it’s a man.”
“I’m convinced,” returned Scoop, “that Mrs.
Kepple brought the prowler to town with her.
That’s why I say it wouldn’t be such a strange
thing if she decided to do a little prowling to¬
-night on her own hook.”
It came eleven o’clock before we realized how
quickly the evening had slipped away. So we
put aside our discussion of the mystery and turned
in.
I was tired and went promptly to sleep. It
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 189
seemed to me that not more than ten minutes had
passed when a whispering voice told me to get
up.
“There’s some one at the door,” Peg informed
in the same low breath.
Red and Scoop were standing in the puddle
of moonlight that came through the window.
Half asleep and half awake I got my club and
joined them. Red’s teeth were chattering.
“First I heard footsteps,” Peg told us. “Then
the door rattled. After that came a knock.
Listen! There it is again.” He caught his
breath.
“It can’t be the prowler,” spoke up Scoop, as
the knocking grew louder.
Crossing to the window, Peg grasped the rope
that still hung there.
“I’m going to find out who it is,” he declared
grimly. “Keep quiet till I come back. And you
better take hold of the rope. If I yell ‘thirteen’
drag me in quick.”
Then he went out through the window. I
leaned over the sill and watched him creep to a
corner of the building. The big door was now
entirely within his vision. Suddenly he gave a
cry and vanished. A moment later he called
out: “Open up, fellows; it’s all right.”
1 9o THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
I wondered at the queer note in his voice till
the door swung back on its hinges. Then I un¬
derstood.
The man standing in the moonlit opening was
Professor Stoner!
“Yes,” he murmured, taking note of our stupe¬
faction, “it is indeed the wanderer returned to
the fold,” and cackling over this silly joke he
teetered into the mill, nis willowy legs seemingly
longer and more spider-like than ever.
The yowling cats drew his attention to the
tenanted cat boxes and we stood speechless as
he passed beamingly from one cat box to an¬
other, favoring each cat with exclamations of
delight. His left arm supported the same basket
he had carried the day we met him at the depot.
Coming to an empty box he paused, threw back
the basket’s cover, and brought from therein a
coal black cat. Very gently he shut the cat in
the box, then turned to us with a contented sigh.
Here Scoop’s brain got to working again.
Darting forward he took the black cat from its
box. Red and I pressed forward.
“It’s Tarvia,” Scoop mumbled; then stared at
us in bewilderment.
Yes, it was Mrs. Meyers’ cat. But there was
no collar on its neck.
CHAPTER XIII
AT THE INFIRMARY
Where was the copper collar?
When we excitedly questioned Professor Stoner
he seemed not to comprehend what we were talk¬
ing about. A dazed look clung to his wearied
face.
“Collar?” he repeated dully, regarding us in
turn with vacant blue eyes.
Scoop nodded and put a hand on Tarvia’s furry
neck.
“It ought to be right here,” he followed up. “A
copper collar,” he explained, “with a small steel
buckle. Where is it?”
Removing his spectacles the bewildered old
gentleman bent over the cat until his long nose
almost touched its ears. Then he silently lifted
his blank eyes to the level of ours and waggled
his head.
Scoop lost patience with the other.
“You ought to know about the collar,” he
i92 JERRY TODD AND
pressed more sharply. “Where did you get the
cat?”
“Dear me!” the professor murmured, trying
unsuccessfully to replace his spectacles upside
down. “I do believe it is long past my usual hour
for retiring. So if you will excuse me I will im¬
mediately seek my repose.”
Here he pottered across the room to the con¬
necting doorway, still fiddling with his contrary
spectacles.
There was a dead silence among us as the
stooped form vanished into the side room. Then
Red shrugged his shoulders and exclaimed:
“Gosh! I don’t know as I care to bunk in the
same room with him. He might try to play a
tune on his razor in the middle of the night
and whittle us into noodles.”
“Don’t worry,” Scoop spoke up sourly. “He
probably isn’t half as loony as he lets on.”
“All the same,” Red persisted uneasily, “I’d
just as soon be home. I never did have a hanker¬
ing for crazy folks.”
We looked on as Scoop reflectively returned
the black cat to its box.
“I imagine,” he said slowly, “the infirmary
guards will be around to-morrow morning look¬
ing for their escaped patient. But before they
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 193
come we’ll make him talk up and tell us where
he got the cat.”
“Like as not,” put in Peg, “he picked it up
at the home of the lady who bought the eggs.”
I Scoop’s forehead went corrugated.
“Um - I think that you’re right. And that
being the case she must live somewhere between
here and the infirmary.”
There was more excited conversation; then
Peg helped himself to a glance at Scoop’s watch.
“Nearly three o’clock! Wough! Here’s
where I hit the hay,” he yawned. “With the
professor ‘reposing’ on cot number one there’s
only two beds left, and £z/-lieve me Pm going to
cop onto the big half of cot number two. Good¬
night, you would-be sleuths!”
Here he darted for the door of the side room,
the rest of us one jump behind. When he landed
on the cot the springs gave a rasping metallic
squeak. Turning in his sleep the professor mur¬
mured :
“Pretty pussy. Nice pussy.”
Scoop scowled uncertainly at the sleeper and
shook his head.
“Nobody home,” he muttered.
I can’t say did I crawl into bed beside Red
without apprehension. And the fact that the
194 JERRY TODD AND
latter kept raising his freckled face above my
shoulder to squint anxiously at the long form
on the nearby cot didn’t help to keep the fidgets
out of my nerves. But I finally got to sleep.
Then I had a crazy dream about a barking cat.
The barking got louder and louder. I awoke to
find myself sitting up in bed. The professor was
snoring to beat the cars. Another such gurgling
and snorting I never heard. But I listened to the
music with silent satisfaction. Certainly no harm
would come to us at his hands if he continued his
solo into daybreak.
He was still sleeping soundly when we re¬
turned from breakfast. Scoop said we should
awaken him and find out what he knew about
the copper collar before the guards appeared to
take him away.
So Peg gave the sleeper a shake and yipped:
“Last call for breck-fast. Now being served
in the dining car in the rear.”
The blue eyes came unsealed in a blank stare.
Then they went closed again and remained closed.
“Well, if he isn’t the champion sleepy-head,”
growled Scoop in disgust.
Bending low, Red put his ear to the thin lips. *
“S-h-h-h! He’s talking in his sleep.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 195
“Better look out,” grinned Peg. “He may
start dreaming of a ham and egg breakfast and
bite a hunk out of your ear in the thought that
it’s the sunny side of a fried egg.”
“If you guys’ll keep still I may be able to find
out something about the cat collar.”
But the laugh was on Red when the sleeper
again vacantly murmured something about his
“pretty, pretty pussy cat.”
Scoop gave a grunt and turned away.
“Suppose we borrow your pa’s delivery wagon,”
I suggested, “and drive over to the infirmary?”
“What for?”
“It was between the infirmary and town that
the professor picked up the black cat,” I explained,
“so the other end of the route is the logical
place to start in on the collar’s trail. If we can
find out what time he left the infirmary we likely
can make short work of locating the farmhouse
where he got the cat. Maybe he stopped there
for supper, or to get a drink of water.”
“Jerry,” Scoop complimented, “that idea is
worth a million dollars. Come on,” he concluded,
starting briskly for the door.
Red chased after us.
“I’m going, too.”
1 96 JERRY TODD AND
Scoop paused and glanced inquiringly at Peg.
“It’s all right,” the latter nodded. “I’ll stay
here with the cats and the professor.”
“If the guards come,” instructed Scoop, “try
and make the old boy talk before they take him '
away. I have an idea he knows more about
the collar than he tries to let on.”
“Leave him to me,” Peg returned grimly.
So we got one of Mr. Ellery’s delivery out¬
fits and started out — only Scoop had to do some
tall coaxing to win his father’s consent. I sus¬
pect we wouldn’t have been able to borrow the
horse and wagon for such a long trip if it had
been a busy day like Wednesday or Saturday.
Our tongues ran in time to the lively clatter
of the horse’s hoofs on the stony roadbed. For
the most, part our talk was about the copper col¬
lar. We now had a clew to its whereabouts.
Within an hour or two we likely would recover
it. Then, of course, we would learn its secret.
“And get the reward,” was the concluding
thought I contentedly supplied.
Red straightway wanted to know what reward.
“It was printed in the Chicago newspaper last
Sunday,” Scoop scowled. “Jerry read it to you. '
Don’t you ever remember anything?”
“I must have been asleep,” grinned Red.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 197
“You usually are,” I put in, “except at meal*
time.”
“Anyway,” he laughed, “I’m awake now. Tell
me about it.”
“The reward,” Scoop explained, “is one hun¬
dred dollars. And it’s ours if we help recover
the stolen pearls or get the thief arrested.”
“Hot dog!” yipped Red. “Let’s figure how
we’ll spend the money.”
“Of course,” Scoop reminded thoughtfully,
“we can be dead wrong in our suspicions. There
may be no connection at all between the copper
collar and the pearl robbery. But I like to think
that there is. Anyway, it won’t take us long to
find out once we get our hands on the collar.”
“How can we tell?”
“We’ll search the collar inside and out for
code marks. And if the marks are there we’ll
know we’re on the right track. If not - Well,
we’ll be out of luck, that’s all.”
I knew what a code mark was, but Red didn’t.
Scoop had to explain it.
“Any kind of secret writing,” said he, “is a
code. For instance, we’ll suppose you’re a thief
and I’m your confederate. You know what a con«
federate is, don’t you?”
“Sure thing.”
*i9 8 JERRY TODD AND
“Between us we have made up a set of secret
signs or marks, one for each letter of the alpha¬
bet. By using this code we can write to each
other and no one else can read our letters. See?
Well, you steal Mrs. Kepple’s pink pearls and
hide them. You want me to know where the
hiding place is, so you take your knife and scratch
a lot of code marks on the flat surface of a new
copper cat collar. Then you put the collar on
a yellow alley cat - ”
“And send it to my cat farm that you seen ad¬
vertised that day in a Chicago newspaper,” I put
in, wanting to help out with the illustration.
“Exactly,” nodded Scoop. “And I come to
the cat farm in the middle of the night to steal
the cat so I can read the message on its collar
and find out where the pearls are hid. I don’t
dare come in the daytime to ask for the cat be¬
cause I’m afraid some one will spot me for a
crook and put me in jail.”
Red looked dizzy.
“But why should I hide the pearls after stealing
them? Why don’t I keep them?”
Scoop grinned at the other’s earnestness.
“Being your confederate,” said he, “I ought
to know, but I don’t. Nor can I tell you why
you put the code on a cat collar instead of writ-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 199
ing it in a letter. You had a reason , of course.”
“And you really believe there are code marks,
on the collar?” I put in.
Scoop nodded.
“But how can we read the writing?” I followed
up. “We know less about secret codes than a
hog does about grand opera.”
“Mrs. Kepple has detectives hunting for her
pearls. We’ll let them work on the code.”
I saw then it was his intention to take the collar
to the Chicago woman. And I went confused.
“But you said last night Mrs. Kepple brought
the prowler to town with her. Can we trust
her?”
“How else can we get in touch with the Chi¬
cago detectives and claim the reward? Um - -
We’ve got to trust her.”
“It’s risky,” I concluded, wagging my head.
“If she’s up to some crooked work we’ll likely
get cheated.”
“Not if we use our wits,” he returned shortly.
Just before the infirmary’s tile roof came into
view we overtook a girl in a blue dress. I put
her age down at twelve or thirteen. And I
grinned as I took note of the braided pigtail that
hung down her back It was the same fiery color
as Red’s topknot.
200 JERRY TODD AND
“Must be your cousin,” I joked, jibbing him in
the slats with my sharpened elbow.
“Shut up,” he growled in sudden confusion. A
girl is the one thing that puts Red under his
shell.
Scoop chuckled.
“Um - Here’s where we show a little class.”
Cocking his cap on one ear he punched out his
chest and reached for the whip. “Step lively
now, Sir Galahad,” he chirped throatily, tickling
the old skate’s ribs with the whip lash.
It was fun to act up that way for the girl’s
benefit. Even Red put aside his bashfulness long
enough to join Scoop and me in our important
pose. I guess we looked like lulus, all right.
Three in a row. Then, as I debated in my mind
whether or not I should wink at the girl as we
clattered by, what do you know if a front wheel
didn’t come off of the blamed old delivery wagon !
Down went the axle. And in the time that it
takes to say “Jack Robinson” the three of us
did a “skyrocket” into the air, landing on our
necks in the roadside ditch.
It was a dry ditch. But that fact gave me no
contentment as I crawled up the bank. Not so
you can notice it! I sort of staggered into the
road. And I scowled at the girl. I wanted her
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 201
%
ft
to know I was good and mad, so she would think
twice before daring to laugh at me.
“You better look after Sir Galahad,” she snick¬
ered. “He’s trying to back up and roost on the
dash of your three-wheeled cart.’$
I yipped sharply to Scoop to come quick and
take care of his blamed old nag. Two heads
popped into view over the weeds fringing the
ditch. I couldn’t tell which was which, their
faces were so dirty. They were lots worse off
than me. Just to look at them put me to laugh¬
ing.
“I’m glad,” said the girl, as the others came
sheepishly forward, “that no one is hurt.”
Scoop collected his wits.
“Oh,” he said glibly, “we do this for exercise.
We’re used to it. Only we got mixed up in our
signals and came out on the wrong side.”
“Well,” the girl returned with twinkling eyes,
“if you really want to do it over again I’ll stand
out of your way.”
“I guess,” shrugged Scoop, “we better get busy
and repair our taxicab.”
It wasn’t much of a trick putting the wheel
on, though, we went tuckered from lifting the
heavy wagon. Just one corner of it weighed a
million pounds.
202; JERRY TODD AND
‘‘Have you boys been down the road very
far?” the girl inquired, as we worked,
“Four-five miles,” informed Scoop, tightening
the axle nut.
“Did you meet an old man?”
Red and I caught Scoop’s wink.
“We met two old men,” he joked. “They were
riding in a flivver. The driver’s long whiskers
blew in front of his eyes, and, thinking he was
In behind a load of hay, he honked his horn for
us to get out of the road*”
The girl never caught on that this was a made-
up story.
“But the old man I am talking about was
walking,” she persisted; “He ran away from the
infirmary with my black cat. I thought maybe
he would drop the cat along the road, so I have
been searching for it.”
The wrench fell from Scoop’s hands into the
dust and he stared.
“Are you talking about a man named Professor
Ellsworth Stoner?”
The girl nodded and further explained:
“I live at the county infirmary. My daddy is
the superintendent. We have many poor people
and some crazy people. Professor Stoner is one
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 203
of our almost crazy ones. He talks of nothing
but cats. And when I missed my black cat this
morning I went directly to his room to get it.
But he wasn’t there. So I knew he had run away
again. And now I have no kitty 1”
Well, in the short silence that followed I told
myself that the ditch accident was the luckiest
thing that could have happened to us. Yes, sir-e !
Had we not been dumped out of the wagon we
would have swelled past this girl without making
her acquaintance. And plainly she was the one
person who could help us the most.
“Don’t worry about your cat,” Scoop spoke
up. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“Sure thing,” put in Red. “We’ve got it shut
In a box.”
The girl clapped her hands.
“Goody! goody!” she exclaimed.
“And the box is in the mill where we have our
cat farm,” I further supplied.
Here a light of new interest came into her
twinkling eyes.
“Oh!” she cried. “Are you the boys?”
I knew then that she had heard all about the
feline rest farm. Everybody had, I guess. All
the people in the county, at least. And like the
204 JERRY TODD AND
others she could see only the funny side of our
adventure. That is what put the twinkle into
her eyes.
Scoop was alive to the course of her thoughts.
“Yes,” he admitted without enthusiasm, “we’re
it.”
Here a roadster came along and stopped beside
us.
“Why, Betty!” cried the woman at the wheel.
“Where have you been all morning? I’ve
searched the whole neighborhood.”
The girl ran forward.
“Oh, mamma ! These are the Tutter boys who
have all the cats. And my Blacky is shut in a
box in their cat farm.”
The expression on the woman’s face invited a
more complete explanation of things. So Scoop
stepped forward and did the talking.
“I know where the collar is,” the girl cried,
when Scoop concluded. “It’s in my room. I
wouldn’t let Blacky wear it because I thought it
was much too heavy.” She paused and looked
into her mother’s face. “Shall we give them the
collar, mamma?”
The woman met our eager glances with a warm
smile.
“I think we should,” was her decision. “It
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 205
would appear from their story that we have no
just claim on the collar.”
Here the girl danced up and down on the run¬
ning board.
“Oh, let’s hurry home and get it! I want to
see the code marks.”
So we touched up “Sir Galahad” with the whip
and followed in the roadster’s dust till we came
to the infirmary, where we were invited onto a
porch to wait while the girl made the trip to
her room.
“Professor Stoner is indeed a queer old gentle¬
man,” the woman laughed, when we were seated.
“Every one here loves him dearly, but it is a
fact we do get tired at times listening to his end¬
less cat theories. He is perfectly harmless and
no attempt is made to guard or confine him.
When we missed him this morning we rather fek
he had returned to his cat farm. I imagine the
guards will come for him some time this after¬
noon.”
Presently the girl came dancing through the
doorway with the copper collar. In that moment
I held my breath. Now we would learn the col¬
lar’s secret and solve the mystery! I was so
eager to get a squint at the code marks that my
nose almost pressed against the woman’s hands
206 JERRY TODD AND
/
as she turned the collar this way and that to com¬
plete her inspection of its metal surfaces.
“Here are some scratches,” she spoke up* “but
they look very ordinary and meaningless to
me.”
The indicated marks were on the inside of the
copper band. Just a fewr scattered scratches.
Scoop promptly declared the marks to be a secret
message. I didn’t argue the matter. But I was
disappointed.
“It certainly is a very peculiar looking collar,”
the woman continued. And she definitely com¬
mented on the bumps that appeared at regular
intervals in the outer surface. These bumps were
somewhat larger than a bean. The collar, I
noticed, was made of two copper strips riveted
together and formed.
Scoop tucked the collar into an inside coat
pocket and motioned us to the wagon.
“Let me know,” called the woman, “if you
solve the mystery.”
“And don’t forget to return my cat,” reminded
the girl.
“We’ll give it to the guards,” Scoop promised.
Anxious to get home, we urged the horse into
a brisk trot. But we had proceeded not more
than a mile when a fearful screeching and rat-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 207
tling told us that something was out of kilter
with our wagon.
“It’s the front wheel,” cried Red, pointing.
“Lookit! It ain’t going ’round. It’s stuck.”
Scoop pulled sharply on the lines. Getting
out, we tried unsuccessfully to turn the wheel on
its axle. The hub was so hot we could scarcely
touch it.
The sound of distant factory whistles came
faintly to our ears.
“How in Sam Hill are we going to get home?”
I inquired, going uneasy in the thought that it
was dinner time.
“Guess we’ll have to walk,” said Scoop with a
sickly smile.
“Walk nothin’,” retorted Red. “We’ll ride
the horse.” Then he lifted his freckled nose into
the air and sniffed. “Do I smell beefsteak?”
I pointed ahead to a farmhouse.
“There’s where your beefsteak smell comes
from,” I told him.
“Let’s ask them for a hand-out,” he promptly
^suggested.
Scoop again tried the wheel. But its teeth still
gripped the axle. So we put the horse to graz¬
ing in a grassy spot and approached the farm¬
house.
208 JERRY TODD AND
The closer we came to the kitchen door the
hungrier we got. Oh, boy, such grand smells!
Steak and cabbage and onions. Scoop rapped on
the screen. Peering into the large kitchen over
his shoulder, I pretty nearly fell off of the porch
when Mrs. Maloney come into view and beamed
at us. I told myself that luck certainly was com¬
ing our way !
“Well, well,” said she in a high-pitched voice,
“if it ain’t the cat farmers ! An’ what the divil
be ye doin’ here?” she inquired sharply. “Look¬
in’ for more cats?”
“No,” I grinned, “we’re looking for a free
dinner,” and I told her about our tight wheel.
“Um - Mebby ye better talk with my sister.
Sure, I’m only visitin’ here for the day; an’ I
can’t say is she in the habit of feedin’ tramps or
not. Maggie ! It’s some Tutter b’ys beggin’ a
dinner. Come an’ talk to ’em.”
Here Mrs. Maloney’s sister came forward.
“We don’t feed tramps,” she laughed, “but we
always have a meal for a hungry b’y.”
“How about three hungry boys?” grinned
Scoop.
“We have plenty. So if ye want to set up,
wash your hands an’ come in.”
“There’s the pump an’ wash basin under the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 209
mornin’-glory vine,” pointed Mrs. Maloney.
“An’ you’ll find soap an’ a towel. Git busy.”
I was the last one into the kitchen. And as
I paused in the doorway I took note of a man
in the road on a bicycle. He turned into the
farmyard and I saw who it was.
“There’s a man coming,” I told Mrs. Maloney
excitedly. “But don’t let him in. He’s a crook*”
The two women neglected the cooking dinner
and ran breathlessly to the door. Then they gave
a hearty laugh as the cat buyer came whistling
onto the porch.
“Sure,” said Mrs. Maloney’s sister, “it’s our
Danny. Come in, Danny,” she called. “A b’y in
here says you’re a crook.”
I felt pretty foolish when the young man came
in and was introduced to us as Mrs. Maloney’s
nephew. This was his home.
“I made a mistake,” I fumbled, my face going
hot. “But you do look like a man who advertised
in the Tutter newspaper for cats.”
“I’m the guy,” the young fellow admitted.
And his quizzical grin seemed to add: “How did
you find out about it?”
Here Mrs. Barnes patted me on the head.
“The poor b’y,” she murmured sympathetically.
“See, Danny, you’ve got him all muddled. Go
210 JERRY TODD AND
ahead an’ tell him about your cat scheme. By
the time you’re through your pa’ll be here an’
we’ll set up.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” the young man be¬
gan. “I’m a medic in the university. In our
surgical work we do considerable practicing on
dead cats, so I thought I’d make some jack this
summer buying cats and embalming them for use
during the coming semester. I knew I could sell
the embalmed cats for a dollar each.”
Here he paused and grinned warmly at his
mother who was putting steaming dishes onto a
long table by the door.
“Ma said she’d disown me if I had people lug¬
ging cats here, making her and dad a neighbor¬
hood laughingstock. So I conceived the idea of
boarding at another farmhouse where no one
knew me. In that way I could buy up all the
cats I needed and no one would be the wiser.
But just as I was nicely started, some member of
the state humane society got hip to the scheme
through seeing my advertisement in the Tutter
newspaper - ”
“And was it an officer of the humane society
who sent you a telegram from Springfield?” I
cut in excitedly.
He nodded.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 21 1
“How did you know about the telegram?”
“The lady where you boarded told us about
it. It’s a nine days’ wonder to her where you
disappeared to.”
“I guess I’ll have to go over to her house some
day and explain the situation. But I’ll confess I
felt pretty cheap the evening I got the telegram.
You see I was threatened with arrest. The officer
suspected what I was up to. It’s against the law.
So there was nothing for me to do but to pay
my board and come home.”
Well, that part of the mystery was cleared
up. But I experienced disappointment. Scoop
had contended there was a connection between
the cat buyer and the prowler. Now we knew
differently.
Here the farmer came in. We were intro¬
duced to him and everybody sat up to the table
and had dinner. During the meal Mrs. Barnes
told her husband about our locked wheel and he
laughed.
“Why didn’t you fan the hub and cool it off?”
he inquired. Reading the doubt in our eyes he
added: “Sure, lads, I’m not joking. In putting
on the wheel you must have got dirt in the bear¬
ing. This made the wheel run hot. When you
heat a piece of steel it expands. That is what
2.12 JERRY TODD AND
happened to your axle. It is the expansion that
made it lock. I dare say you’ll find the wheel
loose when you go back to the wagon.”
He was right.
I don’t like to recall the trouble we had get¬
ting home that afternoon. Every six minutes or
so the wheel put on a case of paralysis. And
then we had to get out and fan it with our caps.
Scoop came to the conclusion that the axle was
bent; and I could see he was uneasy in the thought
of what his father would say.
It was well after five o’clock when we came
slowly into town. Right away we realized that
something out of the ordinary had happened.
The kids in the street were talking in excited
groups. And when we passed the fire station the
red truck was out in front.
Scoop stood up and pulled on the lines.
“Where was the fire?” he yelled.
“The old mill,” a kid yelled back.
This brought Red and me to our feet.
“You mean,” inquired Scoop, “the old cement
mill where we have our cat farm?”
The kid laughed.
“You ain’t got no cat farm no more. The old
mill’s all burnt up.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 213
Well, it took us a minute or more to realize
our good fortune. Then we let out some crazy
yips. At last we were rid of the cats I They
were burned up. Pretty tough on the poor cats,
but we should worry.
Scoop whipped up the horse and drove directly
to the brickyard. The ruins still smouldered.
Peg came through the smoke to meet us, his face
streaked with grime.
“You missed it, fellows. It was a peachy fire.”
I thought of the prowler who touched a match
to Dad’s oil house and inquired of Peg if the
same man were responsible for this fire.
He shook his head.
“The professor tipped over the oil stove. I
was outside at the time. When I saw the flames
I ran and turned in the alarm. In no time at
all the brickyard was full of people. Everybody
was yelling: ‘Save the cats! Don’t let the cats
burn up !’ ”
Scoop took on a sick look.
“You — you don’t mean to say the cats are
alive ?”
Peg nodded wearily.
“They saved every one.”
Scoop gave a shriek.
2i4 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
“Oh! oh! oh! I thought the cats were burnt
up.” He made a wild gesture and clawed at
his hair. “Take me quick and lock me up. I’m
goin’ dippy.”
CHAPTER XXY
INDIANS !
X shared Scoop’s unhappy feelings. And in
a crazy moment I thought what a blessing it would
be to the world if a wizard came along and
changed all the cats into bedbugs. Not ordinary
back-biting bedbugs, but a useful kind. Musical
bedbugs, for instance. Certainly a bedbug would
be useful and desirable if it knew how to play
tunes and put people to sleep. I would like to
own such a bedbug. It would be better than
owning a mangy cat. I was sick of cats. I hated
cats. More particularly I hated these cats.
We had 'gloomily picked our way through the
smoke to a spot back of the ruins where the boxes
were lined up, and now I glared at the yowlers.
“One escaped after the people rescued it from
the fire,” Peg told us wearily. “Otherwise
they’re all here. You can count ’em.”
My thoughts on the moment took a sudden
turn. The professor! Where was he? There
215
21 6 JERRY TODD AND
in the smouldering ruins was a human skull.
Horror stricken, I pointed.
“Oh,” Peg said without concern, “that’s an
old yellow crock we kept grease in for cat sores.”
“I — I thought it was the professor,” I mumbled
weakly.
The other laughed.
“No, Jerry. The professor was rescued along
with the cats. He took after the escaping cat
I just mentioned, and the last I seen of him he
was hotfooting it over the top of the hill.”
“Well,” snorted Scoop, “let’s hope he keeps
on hotfooting it and forgets to come back. All
he brings us is bad luck.”
Peg dropped onto one of the cat boxes.
“I’ve been raking my brain for a scheme to
get rid of the cats, and I think I know how we
can do it.”
“Why not chloroform ’em?” suggested Red.
“A better plan will be to load them into an
empty box car and let the railroad company give
them a free ride.”
Here Peg’s thoughts switched and he searched
our eyes.
“How did you fellows come out?” he inquired.
“Lovely,” informed Scoop. “We fell in a
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 217
ditch and found the copper collar and had dinner
with the cat buyer.”
“Show me the collar and I’ll believe you.”
“How about this?” laughed Scoop, taking the
copper band from his inside pocket. “Ever se^
it before?”
“Where’d you get it?” Peg presently inquired.
We told him the complete story of our ad¬
venture.
“And you think these scratches have a hiddea
meaning?”
“Absolutely,” declared Scoop. “We’re going
to get in touch with the Chicago detectives
through Mrs. Kepple. They’ll know how to
figure out the code.”
There was a brief silence as Peg bent over
the collar.
“Here’s how we’ll work it,” Scoop continued.
“I’ll take Jerry with me to the sanitarium. Red,
you borrow Mr. Todd’s dump cart and help Peg
with the cats. You’ll find plenty of empty cars
on the Happy Hollow siding. We’ll all meet
down town.”
I knew Mother would worry if I missed two
meals in succession, so I asked Red to stop in
and explain the situation to her. Then Scoop and
2 iS JERRY TODD AND
I got into the delivery wagon and drove to the
barn in the rear of the store. Here we un¬
harnessed the horse and put it away for the night.
Mr. Ellery was nowhere in sight. We were
glad.
Presently Scoop came through the back door
of the store with a package of crackers and a
wedge of cheese. He had a pocketful of cookies,
too, and some chocolate mice. I took my half
of the truck and we started.
No friendly truck driver happened along this
time to give us a lift. So we stretched our legs
in order to get over the ground as quickly as
possible. The six o’clock whistles blew when we
were crossing the long river bridge, now com¬
pletely painted. At the farther end the paint was
still sticky. Scoop tried to daub my face but I
ducked.
Another mile and the sanitarium came into
view. The sun was now hurrying down from the
sky as though eager to hide its red face in the
creetops on the far side of the lake. The re¬
flections on the water made a pretty picture, but
I didn’t enjoy it. I was tired; and foremost in
my mind was the thought of the long return
walk. It would be dusk then. And the country
road would be full of lurking shadows.
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 219
“What do you know about this?” Scoop cried
in surprise, as we rounded a corner of the main
building and came upon an Indian village. Yes,
sir, right there on the hotel lawn. Indians in
feathered headdress and a dozen or more painted
wigwams and a campfire and everything.
While we stood there staring a boy our age
came running along. I knew he was from the
city because he was all dressed up in a pair of
white woolen pants and a white shirt. His stock¬
ings were white, too, and he had on a pair of
canvas sport shoes.
“Wonder what he’s up to,” I said, as the owner
of the white pants dodged behind an oak tree
and whistled.
Scoop nudged me and stepped closer.
“I bet you can tell us,” he said aloud, sort of
bearing down on the “you” to make the boy feel
big.
It worked.
“Tell you what?” the other inquired freely.
“If these are real Indians.”
“Sure thing.”
“This is a queer place for Indians” followed up
Scoop.
“Oh,” informed the boy importantly, “they’ve
been hired by the entertainment manager to put
220 JERRY TODD AND
on an outdoor show. Stick around and see it.
It’s free.”
“What do they do?”
“Sing Indian songs and dance.”
Here a shrill whistle sounded from a thicket
beyond the lawn stretch.
“There’s Strick!” the boy cried, going excited.
“Jinks ! I hope he’s got it.”
“Got what?”
“Old Rain Cloud’s head feathers. I’m going
to play a trick on the two-legged dumb-bell who
tends the rowboats. He’s a first-class crab, that
Mick is! I’ll show him.”
“Did he get rough and take a rowboat away
from you?” Scoop inquired, sort of leading the
other on.
This brought a dark nod from the boy.
“I told him I’d get even with him. And when
I say a thing I mean it. The old bat’s scared
to death of the Indians. Thinks they’ll scalp
him. So I’m going to put an Indian dummy in his
room. Pretty good, eh? Strick said he’d swipe
the feathers for me. I’m paying him, of course.
My father’s rich.”
Here another boy’s head and shoulders ap¬
peared out of a bush in the foreground of the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 221
thicket. Each uplifted hand contained a feathered
headpiece.
I sort of stiffened when I recognized Jimmy
Strieker. Until this moment I hadn’t suspected
who “Strick” was. Now I scowled at the young
dude in the white pants. He was my idea of a
smart aleck, and moreover I wanted nothing to
do with him if he were going to put himself in
Jimmy Strieker’s class.
“Hey, Kepple!” Jimmy called. “Come here
with your money. I’ve got two of ’em. You can
take your pick.”
Scoop thrust out a detaining hand.
“Is your name Kepple?” he inquired in a queer
voice.
“Peter Kepple, Jr.,” the boy informed, puffing
up.
“And is your mother the Chicago lady who
owns the five-hundred-dollar cat?”
“Sure thing.”
Scoop took the copper collar from his pocket.
“Ever see this collar on your mother’s cat?”
The boy shook his head.
“There’s a mystery about this collar,” Scoop
hurried on. “We think it was sent to us by the
thief who got away with your mother’s pearls.”
222 JERRY TODD AND
Here the boy drew back and scowled.
“Aw, you can’t kid me!”
“I’m not kidding. Honest - ”
But the other ran beyond hearing.
Skirting the circle of wigwams we passed up
the porch steps and entered the office. A new
desk clerk was on duty. I put him down for a
smart guy the minute I set eyes on him.
“Well?” he snapped at us.
“We want to see Mrs. Kepple,” explained
Scoop.
“Our guests don’t care to be annoyed by small
boys. Run along now before you get stepped on
and bent out of shape.”
Here a man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform came
up from behind.
“Did I overhear these boys inquiring for Mrs.
Kepple?”
The clerk nodded coldly.
“I’m Mrs. Kepple’s chauffeur,” the man in¬
formed. Eyeing us, he inquired: “Say, aren’t you
the Tutter boys who have the cats?”
Scoop said that we were.
“Mrs. Kepple,” he added quickly, “will be glad
enough to talk with us if you’ll explain to her
that we have some important news about her
stolen pearls.”
t
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 223
The man gave a start and stared at us. Then
he turned to the clerk.
“I’ll take these boys in hand. Come this
way,” he beckoned.
We followed our guide down a long hall and
up two flights of stairs.
“This is the servants’ wing,” he told us shortly.
Unlocking a door he motioned us forward. “You
can wait here in my room while I locate Mrs.
Kepple.”
He returned a few moments later with a young
woman wearing a funny little cloth jigger on her
head.
“This is the maid,” he introduced. “She says
Mrs. Kepple is dining with friends at the coun¬
try club and isn’t likely to return for several
hours.”
Here the maid leaned forward and searched
our faces.
“What is it you know about the pearls?” she
inquired.
“I’d rather wait and tell Mrs. Kepple,” Scoop
returned uneasily.
“But I am her personal maid — you can trust
me fully.”
“Yes,” the chauffeur put in quickly, “we both
enjoy Mrs. Kepple’s complete confidence. And
224 JERRY TODD AND
if you have a clew, we ought to act immediately*
instead of waiting for her to return.”
Scoop looked into my face.
“Shall we tell them, Jerry?”
“Why not?” I returned.
Reflecting momentarily, he proceeded with an
account of the dead cat and the copper collar.
Also he told about the prowler, and mentioned
all of the things entering into the mystery.
The chauffeur stared in amazement as the story
grew to a conclusion.
“Great guns!” he cried. “And you say you
have the collar with you?”
“Here in my pocket,” replied Scoop, patting
the bulge in his coat.
The maid was trembling with excitement.
“We must send for Mrs. Kepple,” she cried.
“I’ll get her on the telephone,” the chauffeur
offered, walking hurriedly to the door.
The maid nervously excused herself and fol¬
lowed the man into the hall. We could hear
them talking in low tones. Presently she re¬
turned with a tray containing a pitcher and two
glasses.
“You look tired and thirsty,” she smiled, “and
I imagine this lemonade will taste good to you.”
While we were enjoying the unexpected treat,
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 225
she questioned us about the collar. We let her
take a look at it.
“Ever see it before?” Scoop inquired.
She slowly shook her head.
“This is mighty good lemonade,” I bragged
politely.
“Do have another glass,” she urged. “There
is plenty. And if you don’t mind I’ll leave you
now to serve yourself as I have work to do.
Just be patient till we hear from Mrs. Kepple.”
When we were alone Scoop winked at me over
his third glass.
“This is the life, Jerry.”
“Easy,” I returned contentedly.
“I guess we’ve got ’em all excited — what?”
“I’ll say.”
“Um - Wonder how long we’ll have to
wait.”
“I’m not worrying about that as long as the
lemo holds out.”
He pricked up his ears.
“Some one in the next room,” he motioned
with his elbow.
“What of it?” I returned without interest.
“Sounds like Jimmy Strieker’s voice. The
dickens! Did you hear that?”
“It is Jimmy Strieker just as sure as shootin’.”
226 JERRY TODD AND
“I can hear the Kepple kid, too. Wonder
what they’re up to.”
The two voices on the opposite side of the
wooden partition carried to us plainly. And we
soon got the drift of things. Plainly the hated
boatman occupied the adjoining bedroom. And
now Jimmy and young Kepple were in there rig¬
ging up the Indian dummy.
“How did you happen to get two headpieces?”
we heard Kepple inquire.
“There happened to be two Indians,” laughed
Jimmy.
“Both asleep?”
“Sure thing. Thought while I was about it
I might just as well swipe two headpieces as
one.”
“Glad you did.”
Jimmy laughed.
“I bet old Rain Cloud won’t sneak into the
woods the next time he wants to take a snooze.
He’ll have a fit when he wakes up and finds he’s
been picked. The other Indian, too.”
“And the Mick who tends the boats will have
seventeen fits when he finds these Indians in his
room,” laughed Kepple.
Scoop gripped my arm and pointed to a tran-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 227
som over a connecting door. Evidently this door
was permanently closed, because the chauffeur’s
bed was drawn up in front of it. Motioning for
me to follow him, Scoop tiptoed across the room
and climbed onto the bed’s iron foot rail. In a
jiffy I was beside him.
“Can you see ’em?” he inquired in a low voice.
“Sure thing,” I told him, pressing my nose
against the glass.
We watched while the others put an Indian
dummy into the boatman’s bed. Then they fixed
another in a chair by the window. Both dum¬
mies wore headpieces made of colored feath¬
ers.
“Wish we had a tomahawk to put in this guy’s
mitt,” said Jimmy, giving the chair dummy a
hitch.
“I know where I can get a fireman’s ax,” said
Kepple. “I saw it on the hall wall outside the
door of my room.”
“We need it.”
“Wait here and I’ll go fetch it.”
The iron rail was no comfortable footrest, so
I got down. Crossing to a window I looked
out. The big garage and automobile court lay
below. While I stood there the chauffeur crossed
228 JERRY TODD AND
the court and began fussing around a classy green
roadster. Evidently he was going after Mrs.
Kepple.
Then my interest quickened as the maid came
running across the court. She wore a coat and
carried a small black traveling bag. There was
some excited conversation between the two serv¬
ants, and in conclusion the chauffeur opened the
bag and transferred some small object to his coat
pocket. The maid seemed to wholly resent this.
Under her persistent demands the chauffeur
angrily returned the article to the bag. Chuck¬
ing the bag into the car’s rear luggage compart¬
ment he got behind the wheel and put the engine
into motion.
I expected to see the car shoot up the grade
just beyond the garage. Instead, the motor
stalled. Getting out, the chauffeur squinted at
the gasoline gauge, then yelled to one of the
garage men to bring gasoline.
Scoop had earlier joined me at the window,
but I now heard him rummaging around the
center table.
“Jerry,” he cried hoarsely, “we haven’t the
brains of a bat,” and his face in the gathering
shadows seemed suddenly gray and strained.
“We’ve let the maid bamboozle us out of the
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 229
copper collar. I just saw it in the chauffeur’s
hands. They’re the real thieves, and we never
suspected it. Oh-h, aren’t we the champion dumb¬
bells?”
I went dazed, but only for a few seconds.
Then I dashed for the door. It was locked on
the hall side.
“The telephone - ” I cried, wildly searching
the walls.
“None here. Pound on the door. Some one’ll
hear us and let us out.”
Bang! bang! bang! went our fists on the thin
panels.
“What’s the rumpus in there?” came a suspi¬
cious voice from the hall.
It was Jimmy Strieker. Ordinarily I would
have resented his presence. But in this urgent
moment I couldn’t think of him as an enemy.
“Unlock the door,” cried Scoop, “and we’ll
give you a quarter.”
“Where’s the key?”
“Isn’t it in the lock?”
“No. Say, who are you guys, anyhow?”
I told him.
“Mrs. Kepple’s chauffeur is running off with
our copper collar,” I cried. “If he gets away with
it we’ll lose the reward.”
230 JERRY TODD AND
“What reward?” Jimmy inquired through the
keyhole.
Scoop jumped in with a hurried explanation
of things.
“The green car’s stalled on the grade just be¬
yond the garage,” he cried. “Run quick, Jimmy,
and grab the black bag as they drive off. And
if we get the reward we’ll divvy up with
you.”
A diminishing clatter of shoes came from the
hall. We ran to the window. The green car
was still there. A garage man was pouring gaso¬
line into the tank. I was crazy in the thought
that Jimmy would be too late. He hadn’t come
into sight. The chauffeur got into the car as the
garage man screwed on the gas tank cover. A
cloud of blue smoke shot from the exhaust pipe.
The wheels quivered as they gripped the ground.
Then, in the very instant that the car hurtled
forward, Jimmy appeared out of nowhere seem¬
ingly and successfully hooked the black bag.
“Hurray!” yipped Scoop, hugging me in his
excitement.
“Jimmy’s a pretty good kid after all,” I cried,
feeling suddenly weak and dizzy in our victory
over the chauffeur.
“You said it, Jerry ol’ pal.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 231
I took another look from the window.
“Lookit!” I pointed, sort of going cold.
Four boys had joined Jimmy in the roadway.
It took us not more than two seconds to recognize
Bid Strieker and the rest of the Zulutown gang.
They saw us in the window and hooted. Then
they waved good-by and started down the road,
Jimmy leading with the black bag.
“They intend to keep the collar and steal the
reward on us,” I cried.
“No they won’t steal the reward,” Scoop
gritted. “They won’t get a chance, the dirty
traitors. We should have known better than to
trust a Strieker.” The grip on my arm hurt.
“Jerry, we’re going to get that collar away from
them if we’ve got to fight the whole gang.”
Releasing my arm he ran and sprang onto the
bed’s foot rail.
“We can get out through the other room,”
he cried, raising the transom. “The door’s open.”
“But how are we going to get into the other
room?”
“Watch me!”
Gripping the sill he drew himself up and
through the transom. It took a lot of wiggling,
but he made it. There was a dull thud as he
landed in a heap on the floor.
232 JERRY TODD AND
“No bones broken,” he cried. “Come on,
Jerry. I’ll catch you.”
Putting a chair on the bed, I climbed up and
went through easy, being skinnier than Scoop.
But coming down headfirst put me dizzy. Stag¬
gering, I bumped against the Indian dummy in
the chair.
“Grab the blanket and feathers,” Scoop cried
on the moment, doing the same with the dummy
in the bed. His brain works quick in a time like
this. I knew he had some kind of a scheme up
his sleeve.
“Come on,” he cried, darting for the door.
Shortly we were outside. I headed for the
road running past the garage, but Scoop drew
me into a footpath angling to the right.
“This is a shortcut to the river bridge,” he
panted. “I followed it one day this summer when
I was fishing.”
“Think we can head ’em off?” I cried.
“We’ve got to.”
“But it’s five against two,” I reminded with
some anxiety. “They’ll lick the tar out of us.”
“Jerry, what do you think the Strickers would
do if they were tackled by two Indians?”
“Either die of heart failure or twist their legs
out of shape running for home.”
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 233
“Exactly ! And that’s why you and I are going
to be Indians for an hour or two. Then the Stric-
kers won’t dare fight us, even if it is five against
two.”
I got the drift of his scheme. And I sort of
chuckled as I hugged my blanket and feathered
headpiece, only it was a jerky, nervous chuckle.
Our time was come ! Now we’d get even with
the Strickers for all the mean tricks they had
played on us. Yes, sir, we’d hand them a jolt
they’d remember with regret for the next twenty-4
eight years.
CHAPTER XV
WE SOLVE THE MYSTERY
I never had been over this path. But I could
tell from the general location of things that we
were heading directly for the river bridge. The
road the Strickers were following wound around
a marsh sometimes called the Tutter Pond. In
opposition, we were traveling in a comparatively
straight line. So even with their start on us
we stood a good chance of cutting in ahead of
them.
The sun was now well out of sight, though the
western sky still retained its heated glow. With
the shadows of night creeping upon the land,
we had to watch our flying steps lest we trip and
fall over the tree roots that ribbed the uneven
surface. Panting, we came within sight of the
river, seemingly leaden and sluggish in the gather¬
ing darkness. Here a pier projected into the
water; and anchored close by was a large motor
boat. Plainly this boat was used by the sanitarium
guests and it was their passage back and forth
234
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 235
through the wood that had worn the footpath.
We came under the high bridge and clawed
our way up the steep bank of the approach.
Clutching a rod, I drew my head above the plank
floor. The Strickers were not on the bridge.
Nor were they within range of my eyes in either
direction.
“Dig into the bank with your heels, Jerry,’*
Scoop panted, “and get your wind. You’ll need
it.”
I made to let go of the bridge rod but my
fingers clung to it. Then I scowled as I saw the
mess I was in.
Scoop hadn’t noticed my predicament.
“Indians,” he murmured reflectively, “always
paint their faces when they start out on a scalp¬
ing party. Um - Wish we had some paint.”
I held up my sticky fingers.
“Here’s plenty of red bridge paint,” I told
him. “Just help yourself.”
“This is luck,” he cried, dabbing his fingers
against the overhead rod. “Pocket your cap,
Jerry, and let me fix you up. Then you can
decorate me.”
I’ll tell the world we looked like real honest-
to-John Indians when we got through with each
other. Scoop’s face all over was a sort of sunset
236 JERRY TODD AND
design. I helped him into his headpiece and
blanket.
“Gosh!” I giggled. “If you jumped at me in
a dark alley I’d kiss my old heart action good-
i by.”
He told me to hurry and get under my own
feathers.
“Don’t let the blanket wind around your legs,”
he cautioned. “We’ve got to chase ’em, you
know.”
“We ought to have tomahawks,” I put in after
a moment.
“Clubs’ll do. Look around for one.”
Here an automobile thundered over our heads.
“We may find ourselves in a pickle,” I pointed
out uneasily, “if a car happens along while we’re
in the road.”
“We’ll take the chance.”
I sharpened my ears.
“Some one laughed down the road,” I whis¬
pered hoarsely. “There it goes again.”
“Sounds like Bid Strieker’s yap. Can you see
’em, Jerry?”
“Too dark.”
“There they are! All ready?”
“You bet.”
“When I signal, jump out in front of them and
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 237
give a regular old gee-whacker of a war whoop.
Make it blood curdling. Then take after ’em
down the middle of the road and keep on their
heels till Jimmy Strieker drops the black bag.”
We crawled into the road and like gray shadows
crouched against the heavy safety railing that
parallels the bridge approach on both sides. The
enemy was now well in sight. We could dis¬
tinctly hear their chatter.
“If they can get the hundred dollars,” said
Jimmy, “we can.”
“Sure thing,” grunted Bid.
“Who pays us all this money?” another put in.
“Haven’t found out yet,” replied Jimmy.
“Don’t let that worry you,” said Bid. “We
can find out from Bill Hadley.”
Jimmy laughed.
“It sure was lucky that you fellers came over
to the sanitarium to-night to see the free show.
I wouldn’t have dared pull this trick alone.”
“I bet Scoop Ellery’s mad,” chuckled Bid.
“Huh! Thinks he’s pretty smart. But we out¬
witted him to-night.”
“Jerry Todd, too,” a new voice put in.
“When I see Jerry,” said Bid, “I’m going to
ask him how he likes being locked up.”
Scoop gripped my arm.
23B JERRY TODD AND
“Let’s go,” he whispered tensely.
Together we jumped in front of the surprised
Strickers, flourishing our clubs and rivaling a
whole band of fighting Indians with our war cry.
The other boys stopped dead in their tracks.
Scared out of their wits. Then, as we made a
lunge at them, they got the paralysis out of their
legs and ran screaming down the road. Say, it
was bully!
We were right after them. But I suspect we
never could have overtaken them. Fear puts
added power into a fellow’s legs. And right now
the Strickers were so jammed full of fear that it
was hanging from their ears.
Realizing they were getting away, I drew back
my club and let it fly full force at Jimmy Strie¬
ker’s head. He jumped seven feet when the club
grazed him. Letting go of the bag, he grabbed
at his neck, expecting, I guess, to find a toma¬
hawk embedded there.
A motor car bore down on us from behind.
“Into the bushes,” cried Scoop, diving for the
black bag.
“The driver never saw us,” I panted, as the
car whizzed by.
“Jufct the same we’d better make tracks out of
here,” Scoop counseled breathlessly. “The others
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 2^
may stop the car and head the driver this way.”
“Easy enough for us to hide on ’em,” I told
him, unwilling to let any worry disturb me now
that we had the bag.
“I’ll feel safer,” Scoop returned, “when we’re
across the bridge.”
There was a brief silence.
“The collar’s here, Jerry.”
“Atta boy! Put it in your pocket and we’ll
dig for home.”
Rolling up our Indian toggery, we pitched the
bundle deeper into the thicket. But not before we
had wiped our painty faces on one of the blankets.
Some of the paint refused to come off. This gave
us no concern. Once we were home we could put
our faces white again with turpentine.
The long bridge was a peril. If the Strickers
hailed an auto and bore down upon us from be¬
hind, we could hardly hope to outrun the car to
the other end; nor was there a place to hide on
either side. So we made sure no auto lights
were visible before entering the bridge. And
once started we ran as fast as our wearied legs
would carry us.
But nothing happened.
It was after nine o’clock when we came into
town. And there under a corner light on south
240 JERRY TODD AND
River Street were Red and Peg waiting for us.
Both bubbled with news.
“Mrs. Kepple’s green car,” cried Red, “is
smashed to smithereens.”
“And there’s cats parked up every telephone
pole on Main Street,” laughed Peg.
“They took the chauffeur to the emergency
rooms with a big gash in his scalp and a broken
neck - ”
“You mean a broken rib,” corrected Peg.
“Well, whatever it was. Gee! You never
seen so much blood in all your life. Just like a
slaughter house. The fellow thought he was go¬
ing to croak, and what do you know if he didn’t
lose his grit and confess that he and a maid
stole Mrs. Kepple’s pearls.”
“And the maid’s in the hospital, too,” Peg car¬
ried on, when Red ran out of breath. “Bill Had¬
ley is going to put them in jail as soon as Doc
Leland gets the chauffeur patched up.”
I went weak with disappointment. Bill prob¬
ably had made the chauffeur tell where the pearls
were hid and now he’d get the reward.
But Peg shook his head when I gave him a
look into my unhappy thoughts.
“Bill never will get the reward. As I under-
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 241
stand it the chauffeur hid the pearls in the copper
collar - ”
“Under the bumps in the outer band/’ Red put
in.
“And they were running off with the collar when
the accident happened.”
So the scratches weren’t code marks after all!
I glanced at Scoop. He probably was disap¬
pointed to have his theory exploded. But he
seemed unconcerned about it.
Giving me a nudge he put in :
“And did the thief tell how he stole the collar
on us at the sanitarium?”
Peg’s face lengthened as he nodded.
“That was tough luck, fellows. If we had
the collar we could produce the pearls and walk
off with the reward.”
“But where is the collar?” persisted Scoop.
“The chauffeur had it in a black traveling bag
in the luggage box. He says the car skidded on
the bridge, and likely the bag was flipped into the
• > j
river.
Scoop reached under his coat.
“How about this?” he inquired, flashing the
collar on Peg.
Explanations followed. Then Peg separated
*42 JERRY TODD AND
the two copper bands and out dropped the miss¬
ing pearls. Six of them, each as big as the nail
on my little finger. Say, they were pretty! All
I could think of was big pink teardrops. I felt
pretty chesty as I held them in my palm. Twelve
thousand dollars is a lot of money.
Scoop said we would put them in his father’s
store safe for the night and take turns guarding
the safe to make sure that no burglar got them.
Then in the morning we would turn them over to
their owner and thank her for the reward.
So I gave Scoop my handkerchief to tie the
pearls in and we headed for the store. The
wrecked automobile was drawn to one side on
Main Street. And in the pile of rubbish I recog¬
nized many familiar cat boxes. Dad’s dump
cart was there, too, with four ribs broken from
the left wheel. Peg explained that he and Red
were on their way to the Happy Hollow siding
with the cats when the green car ran into them.
It turned out that the chauffeur and maid were
a bad pair. It was their scheme to get the pearls
out of the house by hiding them in the cat collar.
Both servants knew Mrs. Kepple was planning
to spend a few days at the sanitarium, so they
sent us the cat, intending to quietly recover it
when they were in the neighborhood. Of course,
THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 243
it was the chauffeur who did the prowling; and it
was the maid who called for the cat, represent¬
ing herself to be Mrs. Peter Kepple.
Everybody in Tutter was excited over the ar¬
rest. Yes, and they were even more excited
over the cats. Gee-miny ! I guess we had more
cats for the number of people than any town in
Illinois. People who^ didn’t like cats sort of
glared at us when they met us in the street. But
it wasn’t our fault that the cart got bumped into
and the cats spread over Main Street. It was
an accident. And Bill Hadley couldn’t do a thing
to us except jaw.
Dad said, though, it wouldn’t be at all unwise
for me to take a vacation and stay with my Aunt
Em in the country for a spell. Sort of safety
first. The other fellows had no aunt to visit,
and I guess the townspeople made it pretty hot
for them. I wanted to take Scoop and the others
along, but Dad put his foot down.
“Nothing doing, Jerry,” he told me. “If I
were to turn you loose in the country with that
blamed Scoop Ellery and that red-headed Meyers
kid, I would expect nothing else than to hear of
the state militia being called out.”
He was joking, of course. That is Dad7#
way.
244 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
Three weeks later he wrote me a letter saying
it was safe to come home. The cats had thinned
out until only a million were left, and it was his
story that the neighbors were getting friendly
again.
I was sick of the cats but I didn’t pick on them
like a lot of others. As I could see they were no
particular bother. Of course, at night they
climbed the back fences and made unnecessary
music; but that’s a cat’s way of visiting. And
you can’t make a cat act any different than a cat.
Of course not. But some people hadn’t the sense
to take this view.
Besides, with plenty of cats on hand there
wasn’t likely to be any rats to carry disease germs.
But I guess it’s pretty hard to please everybody.
THE END
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